Monday I had a friend over and I got so drunk. Something I’ve done less than a handful of times in my entire life. Drinking is really not something I find desirable shall we say. Anyways, life has been stressing me out more than normal and so I just let it all go. Nothing crazy happened that night but I mention it only so that when I say I missed two calls from the prison, you’ll understand why. It’s because I was so drunk I spent the night caressing the porcelain throne as opposed to watching for calls lol.
I remember being slightly upset when I saw the missed calls on my phone but it was right when I started to feel sick and the nauseated feeling definitely outweighed the sorrow of missing a phone conversation.
Which brings us to Wednesday, when I’m at work. AT WORK!!! And the COMPANY PHONE RINGS, and its the prison number. At work, on the company phone. Not even my own personal cell phone number anymore. This time, it was a female prisoner calling from somewhere in the country (I can’t remember now but I know I recognized the name of the city at the time of the call) but it was registering as the same number that calls my phone. I guess all the prisons use the same outgoing number? I’m not sure. Either way, I answered the call. Apparently it was some girl looking for her aunt. She asked if I was Anne. Nope I’m not. Then she asked if I was someone else (can’t remember I was so in shock, like literally what in the world was going on) so I said no. And she said she was looking for her aunt and I said sorry I can’t help and basically hung up. I was at work and this was just getting crazy now. Then I just let out one of those shocked laugh/chuckle things which led my co-worker to ask what happened, so I explained what happened.
So my boss A storms around the corner ‘that’s not funny’ ‘this has to stop’ Insinuating that I’ve arranged this somehow, or I have power over when the phone rings. Look I’m at work doing my job answering the phone YOU told me to answer. But he just kept going on and on about how if ‘they’re tracking me, and now know where I work, and are calling me here, then they are probably tracking him and my co-worker and it puts everyone in danger’. Etc.
I’m like don’t flatter yourself buddy. Trust me. No one has any interest in you. But good to know your a little bitch who lives in fear. But instead of feed his fear, I did my best to calm him down and explain it was a misdial and it was a girl from a different prison and she was looking for her aunt and all I did was answer the call so he backed off. For the moment. But then throughout the day he used our inter-office messaging system and it kept popping up on my computer…
‘Any more calls like that and you must report them to me immediately’
‘The likelihood of those calls being unrelated are highly unlikely’
I just kept thinking dude just back off and let me do my work. Right now, your causing more of a disturbance and threat to my peace than those calls ever did. I’m sorry you search out fear and panic, but I’m just going to move on and forget about it. If something happens then I’ll deal with it then. But for now, I’ve got enough REAL junk in my life that I’m not gonna create delusional shit in my mind.
So. Lol. Anyone else have ‘random’ prison calls at work and home?
That’s time of the day when the kids have gone to sleep and the lunches are packed and the house is clean because I spent all day vacuuming (I even did between/under the couch cushions) and mopping and scrubbing. All three loads of laundry are clean and folded and even put away. The dishes are washed and drying. We even went for groceries that are now all put away nicely. The kids are sleeping on freshly washed bedding with freshly washed bodies and freshly brushed teeth.
And then it hits me. In the silence as I stand in my bedroom. The thing I’ve been avoiding for forever.
There’s nothing left to do.
There’s nothing left to try and preoccupy my mind and keep it busy to pretend like I’m not constantly thinking about what I’m unfortunately thinking about.
The emptiness is literally all around and I’m engulfed in silence.
I never thought my life would get to this point. To this completely and utterly alone point. Where there’s nothing left to distract me. There’s no way to even pretend I’m in the most lonely place in the world.
I’m in my mind. Alone.
And I hate it.
It happens every night even I get undressed and ready for bed alone. When the house is in total silence except for the few familiar sounds I make. But that’s it. There’s no music blaring in fear of waking the kids. I don’t sit in the living room and watch tv because that seems like a couples thing. I put the kids to bed, clean up, and then I go to my room. I own this whole house, but I find myself stretched out on my bed, even now, writing this post from my phone. Sure the office is a few rooms away with a fully functional computer and a nice chair etc, but it feels uncomfortable. Not in the soft squishy sense. But uncomfortable in the fact that it’s not what I’m used to.
I’m a creature of habit. And my habit is to be safe, and warm. Not venture out in the dark alone. So when my kids are asleep… I’m here. On my bed. Endlessly scrolling instagram hopefully for its stupid entertainment. Listening to music, needing it to fill my void. Watching pointless things on Netflix.
But its in that moment before I get ‘settled’ on the bed, that the hopelessness finds me. Each night getting worse. The feeling or ‘why even bother’ ‘how pathetic can I get’ ‘look at how sad your life is’ ‘your not going anywhere C’ ‘this is your story’ ‘no ones going to even remember who you were… and rightfully so’ …. that I just hate myself.
I wish a million times over that I could’ve done so many thing differently to have never ended up where I am. I think of what could’ve been had I not have done this or that. Or instead pursued this opportunity or that option when it was offered. But instead… I stayed in my confining comfort zone. And I’m left with this.
This ‘life’ that is nothing of a life at all. Its a routine that I have to complete everyday and nothing more. It’s a struggle and a burdensome weight that I carry only with the hope that my kids will maybe possibly discover something more fulfilling than I have. But then I realize I’m doing nothing to help foster any dreams they may have.
I stifle any individuality they may show by my strict rules and discipline all in an attempt to keep my routine as easy as possible for myself. I don’t allow them freedom to express or explore… ever basically. I have no extra funds to encourage trying new extra curricular activities. Instead I’ve come to the understanding just now while writing this, that my entire reasoning is counterproductive. I want the best for them but provide none of the opportunities to achieve that. I’m to exhausted by the end of my day to even play a god damn board game with them.
So I shovel them off to bed to rest myself, and then hate being alone.
You know what? I just don’t even have a decent enough train of thought to reason this one out. Facts seem pretty clear: I’m a ridiculous mom.
I say I want to be a good mom. And on the surface I invest a lot of time and energy into the things that would paint that picture. But when it comes down to it, my kids are getting a pretty shitty end of that stick.
I guess this is what I get for thinking to much in bed at night.
I’d like to say that once I got back to Canada things got better fast. But that would be a complete lie. It was hard. There were so many stressful factors I didn’t even consider when thinking the whole “leave E” thing through.
My parents let us stay with them for which I am so very grateful for. Plus my parents were SO happy to have their grandkids back from Kenya for good. We figured out a reasonable rent amount, and each of us had our own room downstairs in the house I grew up in. It was nice to have built in babysitters with my parents but to be honest I never really went out. So most nights it was me watching TV in between my parents on the couch. So very cool, I know.
It took us about a week to get settled and over the jet lag. We took many trips to Value Village and Goodwill (thrift shops) to outfit the kids with winter clothes and a few toys. Considering we had just moved from +30 degree weather to February in Canada (like minus a zillion) it’s an understatement to say we were underdressed and ill prepared.
I was still officially on maternity leave with Z so that helped financially for a bit, but I had huge credit card bills to pay off mainly from flights, E’s most recent one to and from work included, so I had to think about what I was going to do to support my kids. I had 3/4’s of my teaching degree already under my belt, but at this time I really didn’t feel like it was my thing. I figured if I was going to go back to school anyway, I might as well make sure it was something I was really wanting.
So I started taking multiple personality tests to see what kind of traits I had and which jobs they matched well with. I needed to make sure I made the best choice because I couldn’t mess anything up. I had little people looking up to me. After at least a dozen quizzes (no joke, I had a lot of time on my hands, plus I had really missed the internet) I narrowed my decision down to the area of accounting/HR that I though suited me well. I found a program close to home that offered an accounting degree and payroll certification for across Canada start to finish in 10 months. The program was designed to be intense but for a faster finish. Sounded perfect for me, since I needed to be back in the work force ASAP making as much money as possible. I applied, got accepted and started all within a week.
I had to find childcare for my kids which was hard since I didn’t even have a regular babysitter. It took me a little while, but I found the perfect dayhome for them 2 minutes from my parents house and on the way to school. The kids loved it and D was an amazing lady.
Now I had to buy a vehicle. Remember I was starting everything from scratch. I looked around for a while at second hand ones that I could buy straight out with cash, but couldn’t find one I really liked, and that didn’t have any issues. I didn’t want to be dealing with car troubles along with all the other troubles I had going on at the time. I ended up going to a dealership and buying the most beautiful brand new Rogue for myself straight off the lot. It was the nicest thing I had ever owned/done for myself and it actually made me happy every time I looked at the car. I’ve had to sell it since then to buy my house so I currently drive a bucket of bolts I hate, but one day I’ll get myself a nice car again.
Then, there were the people I had to deal with. OHHHH the humanity. Where to even start.
My mom just kept comparing my divorce to hers like a gazillion years ago and the similarities were few and far between yet I was supposed to do everything how she had done it and all the advice was in her opinion super helpful… It wasn’t. She kept telling me about different laws that were so outdated, or paperwork I should file that didn’t exist anymore. It was frustrating. I just wanted to be able to tell her what was going on without her telling me what to do. I just wanted her to listen. But that’s not my mom.
Then at a family get together about a month after I’d gotten back, my older sister R felt it was a good time to give me her opinion on my life. Now R is very dedicated to her Christian faith (her and her husband J are Pastors) and from her perspective, I shouldn’t divorce E. I should “separate from him. Separate forever, but don’t ever divorce” Also she felt it was appropriate timing to tell me that, if I choose to remarry, her and her family would not be attending my second wedding. Her and her husband didn’t believe in divorce and remarriage and therefore wouldn’t support it. Unless he had cheated on me. (Apparently that kind of abuse is ok according to God’s break up plan?) She felt she was being kind by giving me a heads up on this. I hadn’t even officially filed for divorce yet (I hadn’t even decided to get a divorce yet, I’d just flown back like a month ago and was still sorting out my life) and you’re already talking about my hypothetical second wedding? It was frustrating and made me feel like no longer discussing E with her.
*Since this time R and I have discussed this moment and I explained how it made me feel, and R has apologized for making that comment at that time and the insensitivity of it all. I have forgiven it and we have moved past it, still no update on her families attendance at a hypothetical second wedding though lol*
Anyways then in April, my little sister’s boyfriend D wanted to propose, and asked for my help because her and I were so close. The last thing I wanted to do while dealing with my divorce from an abusive crazy ex is help other people in happy healthy relationships get engaged. Petty? Yes, very, but also it was my truth. But I helped anyways. I wanted to cry the whole time, but I helped. I also must’ve subconsciously been pissed because I was supposed to record the whole proposal on my phone, and I honestly thought I was videoing the whole thing, but when we went to watch it after there was no video. I don’t know if I forgot to press record or what, but I honestly felt terrible. Either way, she got a beautiful ring on her finger in a room full of her family and friends and flowers. I know she’ll remember it forever without the video… I hope :/ Irregardless, it was a MUCH better proposal than mine, good job D.
My dad sort of kept to himself about the whole thing. That was his style though. Mostly just let my mom do her thing. But when my sister got engaged, I’ll always remember he brought up the whole “don’t you dare hurt my daughter, or I’ll kill you speech” And in that moment I was so mad at him. It was the same speech he had given E. I was his daughter. I had been hurt. And Dad… you did nothing. You literally did nothing. In the one moment I NEEDED someone to keep their promise to me, to protect me, to keep me safe. You did nothing. For a few weeks all I could think about when I looked at my Dad was how he let me down. I obviously don’t condone violence, and I didn’t actually expect him to do anything to E. But I did want him to shut his mouth about it. It was so hypocritical and made me feel like maybe I wasn’t worth it to him. It took me a while to get over it, and still bothers me to hear him talk about it. I’d rather hear him say nothing than false promises like that.
Then on top off all this, I had constant calls, emails, Facebook messages, texts you name it, from E and his family. Harassing and threatening me at every turn. I blocked all sorts of numbers and they would just call from other phones. Then, they started bothering my mom on Facebook.
Ahh good ol family.
It was no wonder that I became depressed and suicidal by the Fall of 2014.
So today I was back at the airport for the first time since flying back from Kenya 3 years ago.
I felt like a deja vue kinda thing happening. I had to head out there for work to meet some of the guys we’d recruited for work and it was just a causal meet and greet before they headed for their shift up north, but just being in the airport was weird. The last 8 times I have walked through those doors I was either flying to or from Kenya.
People ask if I will ever go back, and I don’t think I’m strong enough for it. I love Africa, and yes I will go back someday. But not to Kakamega. Most likely not even to Kenya. I have a house there that I designed and paid for, every square inch, and I built great relationships with people, but I can’t go there. I’d love to travel to maybe Egypt to see the pyramids or something if it ever settles down in the area, or back to South Africa and Namibia again as far as Africa goes. But, no. I will not be going back to Kenya. There are too many memories I don’t want to have too deal with.
Denial at its finest.
In the same way I will not be going back to E. He actually had the audacity to send me a text last week asking me to forgive him, and that we get the family back together.
UMMMM What?!??! Are you delusional? Ohhhh wait. Yes, you are. Here I am, just wanting this stupid divorce to be done with and finalized. It’s been over 3 years of back and forth and him. And now he wants to get back together. Like are you daft? It’s not the first time he’s asked me to get back with him, but I honestly can’t believe that after everything I went through, he would think I would want to go back.
So I texted him back and in the most polite and simple way (I’ve learned to use small words with E) explained that, I have forgiven him as best I can, but that doesn’t mean we will be getting back together. A couple days later I got a call from him and I asked if he understood what I wrote. He said sort of, but he just thought we should be done with this divorce and move on. I told him this isn’t some sort of “phase” I’m going through. The only “moving on” I’m doing is without him. 3 years and he still thinks this is a joke or something.
So I asked him if he thought I enjoyed being his wife, if he thought it was nice for me. He actually said yes. So I asked him to name 3 times it was pleasant for me to be his wife. That’s less than one occasion per year of our marriage.
The phone was silent on his end. A good solid 30 seconds go by before he responds with “That’s a tricky question”
That’s the problem E. It shouldn’t be a tricky question. You can’t even think of ONE time where it was somewhat nice to be married to you. And you think I should continue to do it again? This is your last ditch effort to win me back? Hell. No.
I’ve tasted freedom. And however hard and shitty and difficult and sad and lonely it may be sometimes… most times…It’s infinitely better then being with E.
-Taylor Swift/We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together-
I booked flights for about 10 days out. They were the right combination of cheapest and nearest in date. Well they weren’t cheap, but I just wanted to get out of there ASAP. Then, after I booked the flights and paid, I sent an email to my mom letting her know our itinerary and just an update on what was going on. I didn’t let anyone else know what was happening because I already felt I was being watched like a hawk with my in-laws visiting all the time, and probably reporting back to E. So I attempted to go about life as normal.
Until, I got a call from E. He apparently had been monitoring my email and had seen the email to my Mom. In reality, there was not much he himself could do about me leaving since he was back in Canada now, but that didn’t mean he made it enjoyable for me. He hacked my Facebook and made a single post saying “I’m divorcing E” My friends and family started reaching out to me before I had a chance to delete it. I never post on FB, considering I was living in the middle of nowhere with limited access to internet, so they all thought it was a little out of the ordinary for me and wanted to make sure things were OK. Although the statement wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t how I wanted word to get out, for obvious reasons. So after changing all my passwords to everything… social media, banking etc, I braced myself for what was to come next, while still trying to get over the fact that E had been keeping tabs on all my emails and social media without letting me know. Not that I had anything to hide until now, but still, it pissed me off.
Visits from my in-laws increased ten-fold. In fact my mother in-law took it upon herself often to just come and stay ALL day. No matter how many times I asked her to leave MY house. She would come in the morning, and grab a chair and sit in the middle of MY living room, and order around my farm boy and whomever else had dropped in for the moment.
Calls from E were constant. To myself, to my farm boy, even to the neighbors. It became so overwhelming. To everyone.
So I decided to switch my flights. At this point I didn’t care how much money it cost to re-book them, but I had to get us out of there. I paid the $2000+ to change my current booking from a week out, to 2 days away. Then I started the packing. At this point everyone knew what was going on, so keeping it on the down low anymore was pointless. I gave away most of the kids things to the neighboring children. Clothes that had been worn out by the Kenyan sun, toys that were replaceable, everything. I had very little to pack personally, since anything of mine that hadn’t fit in the 1 of 3 suitcases that fateful Sunday, E had taken upon himself to throw down the outhouse instead of burning like he had threatened, leaving me with hardly anything.
I gave away our chickens to the farm boy and sent him on his way, thanking him for everything he’d done for me. We spent time with our neighbors, visiting and them crying, knowing in the back of my mind I was never going to return here.
Everyone was constantly telling me it wasn’t a big deal and I should forgive him. Which further cemented my belief that I HAD to get out. Now.
M had offered to help drive us to the airport which was in the next town over after we pick Little E up from school at lunch. I had told her she could have our mattress which I had brought from Canada a few months ago. I felt it was the least I could do for them after everything they had done for us. Because finding a good mattress in Kenya? Is like me finding a good man.
The morning of the flights arrived, and lo and behold so did my mother-in-law, bright and early. Whatever. What’s she gonna do to stop us? M arrived with her husband and 1 son to help with the luggage. They backed the van up to our back door and that’s when one of the most stressful days of my life started.
My M-I-L seriously thought she could single handedly stop us from leaving. She stood in the doorway and would refuse to move for anyone trying to get in or out with a suitcase. Everyone was super polite with her… “Excuse me, could you move please, I have to get out please,” then try to squeeze past her. Which wasn’t simple because my M-I-L isn’t a tiny lady. Then when she realized that her just standing in the way wasn’t working, she started grabbing the luggage out of the van and started carrying it back to the house. So M had to guard the van, while her husband and son brought the things out. But my M-I-L was still not impressed by that. She started grabbing things straight from M’s hands, which M was not having. My M-I-L even went so far as to push M away from some of my things, and then claim that M had beaten her!
I know, that in this moment I was not this most helpful person, but I honestly think I shut down. I couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. She started screaming and yelling and acting like we were the worst human beings in the world.
Then I saw my M-I-L walk towards the gate to the yard, so I rushed out the front door to get there first. I didn’t want her to close the gate and then sit in front of it or something ridiculous so that we couldn’t drive the van out, possibly causing us to miss our flights. So I sat on the ground calmly in front of the gate holding it open with Z on my lap and watched her come towards me.
You could see the look in her eyes she was beyond pissed. She knew that she was helpless in stopping me from leaving. Why she wanted me to stay, full of so much hatred for me, I don’t understand, but she was determined. She walked up to me and started on a huge rant. So I simply told her to fuck off. I know it was not kind or polite, but the situation called for it. Which I’ll always remember led to her saying “Yeah fuck me. Fuck me in the vagina” I hate to say I kinda chuckled at that. Then she grabbed her phone and called my father-in-law. She spoke in Swahili but I could tell she wasn’t happy. I also knew that what she was telling him was probably a lie considering all the yelling and hand waving that was going on. Lying seemed to run deep in that family.
M & D pulled up the van to the gate so I could get in with Z and we headed down the road. We got about 3 minutes down the road on our way into town to get Little E from school, when I see my F-I-L racing towards us on a piki piki.
The piki piki pulls over and I see him pull a stone the size of Z’s head out of his bag. Which means at some point on his way to my house, he stopped on the side of the road and chose a rock specifically for this purpose. He stops in front of the van so D could no longer drive. And then proceeds to smash the front of the window with the rock. M was yelling at D to drive past him but my F-I-L was standing right in front of the van and D didn’t want to run him over. My F-I-L grabbed the rock again and slammed the front window again. By now, M is frantic, I can’t believe this is happening, and D starts slowly moving the van trying to get away.
I’m starting to panic. I have no idea what my in-laws are trying to achieve with all this, or what they are capable of. But D slowly starts to drive and my F-I-L moves out of the way. D speeds up and M is yelling at him to just drive! D can barely see out the windshield because it’s been smashed to bits by the rock, so he’s trying his best. But all of a sudden we see my F-I-L’s piki piki pull up on my side of the van again with my F-I-L on the back. He hurls the rock again and it smashes through the front passenger side window shattering broken glass everywhere. M is covered in glass and yelling at D to drive faster. He’s doing his best to see through the broken window and navigate down the very rough dirt road that’s filled with pot holes. I was brushing glass off myself and baby Z, and all I could think about was Little E at school.
At this point, I had no idea how far my in-laws would go to try and get me to stay. I was honestly worried that they would kidnap Little E from school as like a hostage type thing. D drove off the main road to a friends house where they arranged to borrow a different vehicle for the remainder of the drive. You know, one without the windshield smashed in. I was the most frantic I’ve ever been. I just wanted to get my son and get the hell out of the country. NOW.
I called Little E’s school and told them not to let Little E outside at all. I asked them to please pack all his things and have him waiting IN the classroom. I told the teachers to not let ANYONE else, under any circumstance, pick him up except his mzungu (white) mother. Not his grandfather, not his grandmother, no aunts, uncles. Nothing.
The new car arrived with a clear windshield and we switched the luggage. The car was smaller and so just M, and her son and I went in the new vehicle with Z. D stayed behind to deal with his smashed van. We got back on the road again when two minutes later, who pulls out in front of us? My F-I-L. M’s son was driving so the rest of us ducked down so my F-I-L wouldn’t see us. We figured he wouldn’t notice the new car but we didn’t want to take any chances. And at this point I didn’t know what he was thinking or what he had spent the last 20 minutes doing/getting.
We sped as fast as we could into town, to ensure we’d arrive anywhere before my F-I-L but it still felt like too long. I called Little E’s school twice more to make sure he was safe, I didn’t care if the principal thought I’d lost my mind. We pulled up and I felt like it was a grab and go. I was on the phone with his teacher telling him when we would be pulling up and to get Little E ready. The guard opened the gate and ushered Little E out, and we pulled him into the car like a sting operation then pealed out like we were filming the next installment of the Fast and the Furious.
Next, we had to make a stop at the police station to report what had happened to M’s van. I, myself just wanted to get out of town, but I realized this was M’s life and she wasn’t leaving the country. They still had to come back to this mess at the end of the day, so it should be dealt with properly. M filed her police report with a little input from me, and after about an hour we were back on the road.
The first airport was about 2 hours away and it was a stressful ride. So many crazy scenarios ran through my mind. Every ridiculous thing that could happen I thought would happen. I thought maybe my F-I-L might be at the airport when we got there. I thought he might make up all these absurd accusations that would affect me leaving the country for some reason. I’m pretty sure M could sense my paranoia. Her and her son offered to stay with me at the airport until I absolutely had to board the plane, which I was so grateful for. But I was still so stressed out. I thought at any moment I would see the face of any one of my in-laws pop up from around a corner with who knows what, to do any number of things. My mind was exploding with possibilities.
It was finally time for my flight to Nairobi. I can’t even remember if I hugged M goodbye. I know I was so thankful for her and her family for everything they had done. I told her I would pay for the damage to her van. I knew as missionaries, they didn’t have extra cash to be throwing at things like that, and it was definitely not her fault. We would be keeping in touch for sure.
Once on the flight I had about an hour of peace. The kids were relatively good. I had told Little E we were going to see Nanna and Nonno (my parents) so he was excited, and Z was only 6 months old so not much trouble there. Once in Nairobi though, I was paranoid again. I had more in-laws there, and I legitimately thought that one of them would show up at the airport at the request of E. I also last minute realized that my 3 month VISA had long passed the expiry date, and I might have trouble with exit customs. Originally we were working on duel citizenship so I would have been fine, but now…. I grabbed a pen and altered my entry dates on my visa. I couldn’t handle any more issues, and I just wanted to get out of the country. I was desperate. Highly illegal yep, but this is how desperate I was.
I made it through customs by the help of my cute kids and talking about my famous Kenyan husband. No shame, because at this point I would do anything to get out. I finally relaxed a little once I was in the boarding area. It was the first time I think I took a full breathe all day. We made it to London without much trouble. Other then the normal perils of travelling with 2 small kids but not like I had a choice of travelling without them.
From London next was Toronto. Where I always get pulled over at customs. Every. Single. Time. This time though, I must’ve looked like a crack head. I’d been through a lot in the past few days and totally got it. But then they started asking Little E questions like “”Who is this lady?” “What’s her name” and instead of saying mom, like a normal kid, he took it so literally and said my actual name – C. Which of course led to more questioning and a search of my bags. Like for real? Do you honestly think I want to be travelling with 2 little kids for almost 4 days straight? Nobody in their right mind would do this for fun! Trust me, these tiny humans are mine and I am obligated to care for them! No human trafficking happening here.
We finally passed customs but had now missed our connecting flight to our final destination. I had to go through the hassle of rebooking (and paying extra for) the final flight a few hours later then the original. Then I grabbed some food for the kids and I and found a place to nap for a few hours until our flight. Once our boarding time came, Little E was dead asleep on the floor. I had Z in a sling, also asleep and two carry-ons slung over my shoulder. I tried waking up Little E but he was exhausted. No one was around to help so I had to try and pick up Little E. I grabbed him as best I could by his arms and lifted him up to carry both kids. I ended up popping his elbow out. Not my best mothering moment, I’m well aware. Little E just wanted to sleep though, so even on the plane, he didn’t want me to touch his arm to fix it. I wrapped it in a blanket to keep it tight and still so he could just sleep the whole flight. Meanwhile, I was back and forth to the gallery making bottle’s for Z to keep her quite. During the last 3 days I had been so stressed that my body had entirely stopped producing milk for her. So even though I love nursing my kids (my absolute favorite part of being a mom), Z was done at 6 months old, thanks to this stressful situation. The one small saving grace is that she had started taking a bit of formula a few weeks prior when the girls in the neighborhood wanted to hold and feed her while I was dealing with our situation, so I at least had some on the plane.
We got to my hometown a mess. Little E was holding his arm because I had popped his elbow out of place. Z was cranky because she wanted to nurse, but I was dehydrated and had dried out. I was exhausted and at my limit. I hadn’t slept more than an hour in almost 60 hours and I had been through one of the most stressful ordeals ever, and I had no idea what was next.
But we were all alive and would be safe. And that was what was important.
Below is M’s van after the fact, posted with the following on FB:
“God never promised a problem free life but He does promise to never leave us. On Wed we were helping a friend leave Kenya when her family attacked our van. The father in law blocked the road and threw rocks at our windshield and then when we got away he came again to continue throwing another rock into my passenger window. God showed us a place to hide and many friends that came to help. We are bruised, cut and shaken up but very happy to be ok”