#pastsins

We had been talking for hours, catching up on old times. She had spent the last two years and seven months in Nairobi and Mombasa doing business. And though she didn’t say exactly what business she was doing, some of the advice that peppered our conversation raised my suspicion that she had been involved in something sinister.

‘God, am I judging her?’ I thought. After all, she was okay giving an account about the three abortions she had procured just so she could keep her relationship going.
“No way was I returning to Kampala with other men’s children!”

The first was a one-night stand. With a guy she met at the market where she’d gone to buy fabric from the heavily- bleached Congolese women who smuggled them into Kenya.
He was the one at the stall, the Madame was away for a few hours.
And when they got talking, both in broken Kiswahili, she fell for the few French words like ‘oui’ and ’s’il vous plaît’ that he mentioned unconsciously.

He followed her to her the rooms she shared with two other young women.
They ended up in bed.
A month later, she discovered, to her dismay, that she was with child.
She did not see or hear from him again.
Madame told her that he was her cousin.
He had flown to Belgium three weeks ago.

That marked the end of that baby.
In a back-end clinic where the fetus had been thrown into a red plastic bucket with two others.

The next two kiddos were with the same guy.
They had dated on and off for five months.
And she had flushed the babies.
No qualms.

Well, she was happy to be back. Life in Nairobi was hell. And all the while she missed her two boys. Surprisingly, their father, that fat, sloppy, good-for-nothing thing of a man was glad to see her.
Even though he’d never wanted to marry her or show any love, he cared for the kids and gave her money for food and school.
But that didn’t take away the fact that he was a slob.
He only came to her occasionally and when he was done, he slid off her and returned to his room. Yes, they slept in different rooms.

It had been like that for some time.
She had grown tired of the charade - her slipping back into their bedroom at 5am, just to give the boys the picture that things in the home were good.
Sneaking into each other's rooms was tiring.

And then she heard that Pato had been saying things to the girls that brought him food at the shop. Someone whispered that he had occasionally invited one to spend a few hours in the night when Nissy was away upcountry visiting her mother.
Then, the fact that she was the real definition of a housewife (only that she didn’t have the ring) was driving her up the wall.
That, and having to depend on a man for everything.
She had to do something for herself.
Leave the kids and go look for money, capital to invest.
Money that was hers.

But here she was.
Back.
Empty-handed.
With no idea where to even start.

****************
Lunch was delicious. A special meal for old friends. Matooke, rice, liver, doodo. The conversation flowed freely.
“Girl, something’s been bugging me for a long time. Years, actually.”
This chic had a lot going on.
“A huge, huge secret. Man, if only you knew! God! This is so hard!”
My quizzed look egged her on. Of course I wanted to know!
She looked at the floor.
“Ah, its okay. I’ll deal with it. I will. I came back determined to finish it, once and for all.”
“What is it Nissy?
She shook her head.
“No, lemme deal with it. Oh, God, why?”
“C’mon, let it out. It’s okay. Let it out. Hey.”

When she was 20, she had started an affair with a married man at work.
Being the naive intern then, she’d allowed Martin to take her out on dates, had giggled when he complemented her, and eventually ended up spending the night with him while on an upcountry trip. This was in spite of the fact that she was living with her boyfriend, Pato.
Before he fell off the wagon, to become the eccentric pig that he was now.

And when her son came, she was ecstatic.
However, when he was about three months old, she began to notice things about him that looked so much like Martin.
The shape of his head.
The extra little finger on his left hand.
Pato was glad to have a son. “My heir!” he boasted to friends and family.

And little Jonny grew more and more handsome every day.
Eyes like his father’s, the eyes that had bedazzled her.
The athletic build.
The broad forehead.
She had no idea if Pato noticed anything, but if he did, he was very diplomatic about it, and said nothing.
And then she had had another son and Pato doted on him as well. And all was good for some time until Pato had started to become more and more distant.

Martin called off the relationship when he realized she was pregnant.
And when her internship period ended, she had left and not seen or heard from him again. But one day, she and seven-year-old Jonny had stopped by a restaurant in town for a bite, and lo and behold, there was Martin, finishing up a late lunch.
They had talked for a few minutes and he took a special interest in Johnny.
“Maybe he saw the resemblance, the little finger, hmmm …”
But she had said nothing.
It was only after Martin left, that she confirmed.
There was no mistaking.
Johnny was Martin’s son.

******************
Now here she was, in the storm of a dilemma.
It hung heavy on her shoulders.
Jonny was 17, going on 18 next month.
Pato was always complaining about him, saying he was becoming a problem - that he didn’t clean his room, his grades were bad, he was moving with the wrong company.

What had happened in the time she had been away?
Yes, Johnny had grown.
He was now a young man, soon to be an adult.
It was obvious he felt his Dad’s disfavor and was glad to see his mother back.
He doted on her like he was six again.
But her heart was heavy.
And it had been like that for a long time.
Should she tell him the truth?
Was it a secret she should take to her grave?
She was torn.
"What do I do?"
I did not know what to say.

**************

She had recently discovered that Martin had been bedridden for four months.
She got up and went into her room and returned with an old picture.
He was tall and lean.
“That was when we had just started going out. This guy looked so good, oh! But, I recently met this chic who worked in his office and she told me he had been in hospital for a month, and that when he was discharged, he was still so sick to return to work.”

She feared that the worst could happen.
That he could die. She wondered where she could find him.
She wondered if he’d want to know that truth.
Even though he had never asked. 
She figured that she could let Jonny know that Martin was his father, but Pato was his Dad.
Dad.
The one who had raised him, and bathed him and loved him.
Like his one son.
Dad.
Nissy reasoned that not fathering a child didn’t mean you could not love him.
Anyone can be a father, but being a Dad was special.
Pato was special to Jonny. 

But again, she worried what Jonny would think about her.
That she was wild?
That she was a cheat?
Wouldn’t that lower his estimation of her?

Worry was tearing her heart apart.
Her thoughts tortured her.
She had become an insomniac, tossing and turning and turning and tossing every night.
She panicked at the mere memory.
And when she looked at Johnny, tears pricked her eyes.

Personally, I felt that she should hold her peace.
Why disrupt her son’s life at this stage?
It could leave him empty, devastated, disturbed.
Why open a can of worms, Pandora’s box, why not let sleeping dogs lie?
All the cliches and idioms sprang to mind.

But I knew deep down that the final solution was hers.

//////////
Nissy called me at 6am.
Pato had known all along, and he had told her so last night.
That he had done a DNA test while she was in Nairobi, and confirmed his suspicions but waited for the right time to tell her.
And now he wanted her to tell Jonny.