Nyina wa Mumbi was indeed a lucky woman, or so the villagers of Gitithia thought. But anyone who really knew her story understood that her life had been anything but easy. She wasn't born into comfort or privilege; instead, she was shaped by the hardships that surrounded her, much like the other women in the village. For years, Nyina wa Mumbi hawked ngu, firewood, and charcoal at the Ngarariga village, and when that wasn’t enough, she took up ibarua, menial jobs, working as a laborer in villagers farms just to make sure her children could eat and get an education.
It wasn’t just her daily grind that tested her strength. When Lare forest caught fire, a disaster for many, something miraculous happened. After the rains, the scorched earth turned into a lush garden of managu—Black Nightshade. Nyina wa Mumbi would go to the forest, carefully picking the greens and later taking them to Adams Market or Kawangware, miles away. Her children were all in school by then, some at boarding schools, others at local day schools, but they never lacked for anything because of her tireless work.
Her efforts paid off. Every one of her children made it through college, a feat few could claim in the village. Nyina wa Mumbi had done what many thought impossible, raising and educating her children all on her own. But instead of praise, the village women whispered. They said she must be the concubine of several village men, men who neglected their own families while Nyina wa Mumbi somehow thrived. She didn’t let the rumors bother her, not when she knew the truth—her success came from hard work, not from scandals.
When her children completed school and began their own lives, they didn’t forget their mother. They built her a beautiful house, a home she could finally rest in after so many years of back-breaking labor. Each month, her children brought her shopping in bulk—packets of flour, sugar, dozens of items, and bales of essentials. Every weekend, one or two of them would visit, and they even bought her a smartphone so they could video call her from wherever they were. It was a far cry from the basic kadude phones her peers carried. On the outside, Nyina wa Mumbi seemed to have it all—a loving family, comfort, and the respect of her children.
But no one knew the weight that had settled on her heart. Yes, her hands were finally free from the heavy burdens of labor, but her mind was consumed by worries about her children and their marriages. She had hoped they would find happiness, that their lives would be easier than hers had been. But instead, their homes were filled with strife, and her grandchildren, the very ones she had once dreamed would carry on the family’s strength, were becoming lost in their wayward ways.
Nyina wa Mumbi could no longer enjoy the luxuries her children provided. The packets of pishori rice, the nyama for ugali, the chapati and minji they brought her sat untouched when her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't sleep knowing her children were struggling in their marriages, knowing her grandchildren were drifting away from the values she had worked so hard to instill. What had begun as a hopeful chapter of rest had become one of sleepless nights and quiet despair.
In her old age, Nyina wa Mumbi realized that while she could rest her tired body, her heart was heavy with worries she had never anticipated. The years of physical labor had been tough, but nothing compared to the emotional weight she now carried. What she had hoped would be her golden years had turned out to be more painful than the years of sweat and toil she had endured to get there.
It wasn’t just her daily grind that tested her strength. When Lare forest caught fire, a disaster for many, something miraculous happened. After the rains, the scorched earth turned into a lush garden of managu—Black Nightshade. Nyina wa Mumbi would go to the forest, carefully picking the greens and later taking them to Adams Market or Kawangware, miles away. Her children were all in school by then, some at boarding schools, others at local day schools, but they never lacked for anything because of her tireless work.
Her efforts paid off. Every one of her children made it through college, a feat few could claim in the village. Nyina wa Mumbi had done what many thought impossible, raising and educating her children all on her own. But instead of praise, the village women whispered. They said she must be the concubine of several village men, men who neglected their own families while Nyina wa Mumbi somehow thrived. She didn’t let the rumors bother her, not when she knew the truth—her success came from hard work, not from scandals.
When her children completed school and began their own lives, they didn’t forget their mother. They built her a beautiful house, a home she could finally rest in after so many years of back-breaking labor. Each month, her children brought her shopping in bulk—packets of flour, sugar, dozens of items, and bales of essentials. Every weekend, one or two of them would visit, and they even bought her a smartphone so they could video call her from wherever they were. It was a far cry from the basic kadude phones her peers carried. On the outside, Nyina wa Mumbi seemed to have it all—a loving family, comfort, and the respect of her children.
But no one knew the weight that had settled on her heart. Yes, her hands were finally free from the heavy burdens of labor, but her mind was consumed by worries about her children and their marriages. She had hoped they would find happiness, that their lives would be easier than hers had been. But instead, their homes were filled with strife, and her grandchildren, the very ones she had once dreamed would carry on the family’s strength, were becoming lost in their wayward ways.
Nyina wa Mumbi could no longer enjoy the luxuries her children provided. The packets of pishori rice, the nyama for ugali, the chapati and minji they brought her sat untouched when her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't sleep knowing her children were struggling in their marriages, knowing her grandchildren were drifting away from the values she had worked so hard to instill. What had begun as a hopeful chapter of rest had become one of sleepless nights and quiet despair.
In her old age, Nyina wa Mumbi realized that while she could rest her tired body, her heart was heavy with worries she had never anticipated. The years of physical labor had been tough, but nothing compared to the emotional weight she now carried. What she had hoped would be her golden years had turned out to be more painful than the years of sweat and toil she had endured to get there.