In Gitithia village, men were the pillars of their homes, revered and respected for their unyielding dedication to their families. They rose with the sun, working the fields, tending to cows and goats, and some journeyed far beyond the village to seek employment. Yet, no matter how far they wandered, the weekends brought them back to their roots, to the village that was their sanctuary and to the families that were their world.
These men, like Jesus, carried the weight of their families on their broad shoulders, knowing that their strength and energy were meant to nourish those they loved. They toiled under the scorching sun, their hands rough and calloused from years of hard work. They did not seek glory or wealth but found fulfillment in the sight of their children fed, clothed, and, when possible, educated. With meager earnings, their efforts were etched into the very fabric of the village—visible in the growing fields, the sturdy homes, and the hopeful eyes of the children they raised.
But as time passed, a new generation of men emerged, one that turned the village upside down. Unlike their forebears, these men seemed to detest the very essence of toil. Some shunned work altogether, while others squandered their earnings on frivolous pursuits. They fed swine with the fruits of their labor, casting aside the sacred duty of providing for their families. They failed to build the deep, nurturing connections that their fathers had fostered with their children. They were indifferent, distant, and unbothered as their families slipped into despair.
Worse still, this generation of men abandoned their pride and began begging for money from their wives. These were the same wives who spent their days ibarua, laboring under the hot sun, digging in fields not their own. Yet, these men had the audacity to use the hard-earned money not to feed their families, but to feed their own vices—alcohol, beer, soup, and mandazi. And when their wives hesitated, they meted out cruelty, raising their hands against the very women they depended on.
As the men of the village fell into disarray, the women of Gitithia rose to fill the void. They became the new pillars, the ones who fed their families, clothed their children, and ensured they went to school. The village, once a domain of male authority, shifted to a place where women’s resilience and strength became the driving force.
These women did not sit idly by as everything crumbled around them. They brought the village together, through 'ibara'— groups that defined Gitithia. They worked together, supporting each other and ensuring that no family was left behind. They did what needed to be done, not because they sought to replace the men, but because they could not bear to see their village, their families, fall apart.
But the question remained: Where were the men? The once mighty protectors and providers, who had kept the village strong, were now mere shadows, lost in a haze of neglect and indifference. The village of Gitithia, once a testament to male strength and sacrifice, had become a testament to the power of women to endure, to rebuild, and to lead when those who should have led had failed.
And so, Gitithia continued, not as a village of men, but as a village of women, who, against all odds, kept the flames of their homes burning bright. The old men who once stood tall were no more, and the new men had fallen short, leaving the women to pick up the pieces and carry the village into a future they had never imagined—one where they held the reins, not out of choice, but out of necessity.
These men, like Jesus, carried the weight of their families on their broad shoulders, knowing that their strength and energy were meant to nourish those they loved. They toiled under the scorching sun, their hands rough and calloused from years of hard work. They did not seek glory or wealth but found fulfillment in the sight of their children fed, clothed, and, when possible, educated. With meager earnings, their efforts were etched into the very fabric of the village—visible in the growing fields, the sturdy homes, and the hopeful eyes of the children they raised.
But as time passed, a new generation of men emerged, one that turned the village upside down. Unlike their forebears, these men seemed to detest the very essence of toil. Some shunned work altogether, while others squandered their earnings on frivolous pursuits. They fed swine with the fruits of their labor, casting aside the sacred duty of providing for their families. They failed to build the deep, nurturing connections that their fathers had fostered with their children. They were indifferent, distant, and unbothered as their families slipped into despair.
Worse still, this generation of men abandoned their pride and began begging for money from their wives. These were the same wives who spent their days ibarua, laboring under the hot sun, digging in fields not their own. Yet, these men had the audacity to use the hard-earned money not to feed their families, but to feed their own vices—alcohol, beer, soup, and mandazi. And when their wives hesitated, they meted out cruelty, raising their hands against the very women they depended on.
As the men of the village fell into disarray, the women of Gitithia rose to fill the void. They became the new pillars, the ones who fed their families, clothed their children, and ensured they went to school. The village, once a domain of male authority, shifted to a place where women’s resilience and strength became the driving force.
These women did not sit idly by as everything crumbled around them. They brought the village together, through 'ibara'— groups that defined Gitithia. They worked together, supporting each other and ensuring that no family was left behind. They did what needed to be done, not because they sought to replace the men, but because they could not bear to see their village, their families, fall apart.
But the question remained: Where were the men? The once mighty protectors and providers, who had kept the village strong, were now mere shadows, lost in a haze of neglect and indifference. The village of Gitithia, once a testament to male strength and sacrifice, had become a testament to the power of women to endure, to rebuild, and to lead when those who should have led had failed.
And so, Gitithia continued, not as a village of men, but as a village of women, who, against all odds, kept the flames of their homes burning bright. The old men who once stood tall were no more, and the new men had fallen short, leaving the women to pick up the pieces and carry the village into a future they had never imagined—one where they held the reins, not out of choice, but out of necessity.
