Mama John is old now,
the same age she met Granny Rahab,
her mother-in-law,
when she stepped into marriage.
Mama John, like Esau's wives,
brought nothing but bitterness,
grief carved deep into Granny Rahab's bones.
She never lifted a hand,
not to offer a morsel of food,
not to wash even the dirtiest blankets.
Respect? She buried it under her pride.
Fortune favored Mama John—
four sons in her quiver,
while Granny Rahab had only Baba John.
Her sons brought her daughters-in-law:
Makena, Waithiegeni, Kanyanya, Wamaitha.
But now, Karma has her by the throat.
Mama John is crushed,
her daughter-in-laws wield canes,
each lash a reminder of her own cruelty.
What she dished out to Granny Rahab returns—
cold, relentless.
Now she seethes,
cursing from dawn to dusk,
spitting venom at her daughters-in-law.
But the neighbors—they know the truth:
She dug this grave herself.
She rolled the stone,
and it crushed her.
the same age she met Granny Rahab,
her mother-in-law,
when she stepped into marriage.
Mama John, like Esau's wives,
brought nothing but bitterness,
grief carved deep into Granny Rahab's bones.
She never lifted a hand,
not to offer a morsel of food,
not to wash even the dirtiest blankets.
Respect? She buried it under her pride.
Fortune favored Mama John—
four sons in her quiver,
while Granny Rahab had only Baba John.
Her sons brought her daughters-in-law:
Makena, Waithiegeni, Kanyanya, Wamaitha.
But now, Karma has her by the throat.
Mama John is crushed,
her daughter-in-laws wield canes,
each lash a reminder of her own cruelty.
What she dished out to Granny Rahab returns—
cold, relentless.
Now she seethes,
cursing from dawn to dusk,
spitting venom at her daughters-in-law.
But the neighbors—they know the truth:
She dug this grave herself.
She rolled the stone,
and it crushed her.
