When a parent sends their child to college, it is often a bitter sweet experience. On one hand, the parent is happy that the child made it to the university and is about to take steady steps into an exciting career. On the other hand, it dawns on them that their little boy or girl is no longer so little. They are actually on their way out of the nest.
Indeed, most young adults never return as live-in members of the family, especially if they are fortunate enough to secure a job right after campus. The employment crisis in Kenya has made this scenario a rarity but it still happens. Some get absorbed immediately after field attachment while others move in with campus buddies to launch start-ups.
During admission at the college, both parent and child are filled with great expectations. For the child, or more appropriately- the young adult, they look forward to making new friends, enjoying new-found freedom and pursuing their dream course. The parent starts dreaming of how they will ferry a busload of villagers to witness their child become the newest graduate in town. They begin visualising their little champ being a doctor, or a no-nonsense lawyer. They can almost hear the locals back home hailing them as “Mama daktari, baba wakili…” How exciting!
Neither the child nor the parent anticipates the surprise of a baby. For sure, no parent waits to be called by their daughter or son only to be informed that they are going to become a grandparent. Yet, this happens and more often than we care to admit.
Most of these students go ahead to have healthy babies, they graduate and go ahead to soar in exciting careers. Because a child is not an impediment to career prospects and crying over spilt milk has never been of use to anyone. The parents, after recovering from shock, quickly morph into dotting grannies. And life goes on.
That said, the challenges of being a campus parent cannot be overstated. Often, these parents have no place to air their frustrations because they made their bed and society demands they must lie on it. But today, three young adults get a chance to take us through the intrigues of being a campus parent. They seek your audience in an open letter to their parents and here is what they have to say:
I was in my first year, just a month shy away from turning 19 when I found out that I was pregnant. At first, I thought my periods were pranking me. I kept waiting for them to show up and when they didn’t, I decided to take a pregnancy test. I remember staring at those two distinct strips on the test kit, pale faced.
After recovering from the shock, I broke the news to my boyfriend who was also a college student. He was stunned. He said a lot of things including how he was not prepared to be a dad. We spoke at length, contemplated on the issue for a while and decided an abortion would be the best way to handle the issue. Apart of me hoped my boyfriend would talk me out of getting the procedure, but he didn’t. He encouraged, no, insisted I go for it and this made me sad. He even gave me the money for the clinic visit.
The days before that visit were pure torture. I had nightmares of something going wrong at the abortion clinic. “What if I died in the process? Or they rupture something and I become barren?” These thoughts sent a cold chill down my spine. The guilt of ending my baby’s life started gnawing at my conscience.
Nevertheless, I put up a brave face and showed up at the abortion clinic. I was given a prescription and the pills were supposed to help me bleed out the foetus. When I took the pills, I bled profusely then it stopped. I blocked out the entire experience from my mind and tried to busy myself with school work. It was a futile exercise and to calm my nerves, I decided to take another pregnancy test. This was two weeks after taking the pills. To my utmost shock, the test turned positive. I was still pregnant!
This time round, I decided to keep it and not utter a word to anyone. But mums have a way of knowing these things. I was at home when she confronted me, wanting to know if I was pregnant. I had hidden my condition for a month. When I confirmed her worst fears, she became furious. Next thing I knew, she was whisking me away to a hospital and there, we were informed that I was three months pregnant.
Mum’s rage evaporated and she started taking care of me. Her loving support carried me all through the pregnancy. When the baby came, she was right there by my side and because of this, I became confident that I was going to be a great mum.
However, there is such a thing as being too supportive. While I genuinely appreciate mum’s concern and her commitment to my baby, I feel that she has been overstepping especially as the child grows older. Ever since I resumed going to college, my mum has taken full charge of my child. She dictates his diet, nap time leaving me with no say at all. When I was growing up, mum never hesitated to use the slippers on me but now, I can’t even discipline my son. He is so pampered.
My baby is two years old and has a closer bond with my mum than with me. This pains me a lot. Being a last born in a family of three, I never had my parents around. They were always out there working hard to fend for us. They tried to make up for their absence with gifts but that can never replace spending time with them. I do not want my child to go through that. I only get free time on weekends and I wish mum would give us space to bond when I am at home. I know she means well and I am thankful for the support. However, I do not want to be a stranger to my own child.
I will never forget receiving that text from Nicole, my girlfriend. It was brief but with a finality that made my heart pound anxiously. She had texted to let me now that her periods were a no show.
I dashed to a chemist, got the home test pregnancy kit and rushed to her place. She got the urine sample and dipped the tiny strip. Then we sat still, staring at it with bated breaths. Two thick lines confirmed we were going to become parents. I can’t quite describe my emotions but they left an aftertaste of uncertainty. With some sprinkling of fear. However, my girlfriend and I decided to accept the situation and start preparing for the journey ahead. I was going to be a dad at 21.
“We are not going to pay university fees for a parent,” my father responded firmly after I broke the news to him. To be honest, I had not expected warm congratulations from them. They had raised me with an iron fist, and I was always expected to toe the line. My news was a disappointment to them and for a whole semester, they never paid my school fees. I nearly dropped out of school but thankfully, their anger cooled down and they continued paying my fees.
However, on the parenting front, we didn’t receive any financial support from our families. I started selling shoes and this coupled with support from friends, kept us going. Thankfully, Linda Mama programme lightened our financial burden.
I committed to walk with my girlfriend every step of the way. I often accompanied her for the pre-natal clinics. When we hit the sixth month, my girlfriend started experiencing labour pain. She underwent a caesarean surgery and the baby was born preterm weighing 900g. Our baby boy spent a few weeks in the incubator and when he showed improvement, we were allowed to take him home.
The doctor gave us so many instructions on how to take care of our tiny baby that we got home so confused. We had many sleepless nights and that is when I learnt that babies don’t cry, they shriek. At first, he was on supplements which pulled at our meagre resources but he soon stopped taking them after gaining enough weight.
Besides taking care of the baby, Nicole also needed someone to care for her as she recovered from the C.S wound. I quit my shoes business to care for both of them. My campus friends also popped in to lend a helping hand whenever they could. All this time, we never told our parents about the birth of our son.
One year later, our class broke for the long holiday. There was no way we could hide the baby from our parents any more. Nicole’s parents received the news warmly and welcomed her and the baby at home. My parents were still reluctant to acknowledge that I was now a dad but they eventually came around.
Looking back, I don’t regret being a dad at 21. It helped me focus and think of ways to care for my son. I only wish my parents had accepted my fatherhood earlier instead of taking a whole year. There was a lot, especially in those earlier stages, that I would have learnt from them.
In 2018, I was a jovial girl with big dreams for the future. I had completed my KCSE, passed and waiting to join the university. My parents, who toiled from dawn to dusk to put me through school, were proud that I hadn’t let them down.
In my village, I had a boyfriend who loved me very much. We spent hours on end daydreaming about our future together. When not doing that, we would be caught up in passionate rendezvous of young lovers. He promised me heaven and earth, and I swallowed the promises hook, line and sinker. The plan was to get married immediately after campus.
Then I got pregnant. For some reason, we never thought about using contraceptives. Maybe we felt that our love was immune to unplanned pregnancies or that we were somehow invincible. Oh the folly of infatuation!
I knew that I wouldn’t dare breathe a word to my parents. For three months, I kept the pregnancy well-hidden waiting to join the university. Breaking the news to parents would mean an end to my educational aspirations. They would conclude that I was more interested in becoming a mother than learning, and would spend a cent on my fees. Furthermore, sharing the news with my boyfriend hadn’t helped the situation. He bolted, at first I thought it was from shock, but we became estranged after a series of disagreements. So no, I was not sharing the news with anyone.
I got admitted to the university, and safe from my family, I was able to let out my bump. Occasional stares came my way but I brushed them aside. Maybe they were surprised to see a heavily pregnant first year, I didn’t blame them. I made it through the semester and then it was time to go home.
I couldn’t hide my pregnancy from the family. My parents were clear that they wanted nothing to do with me or the baby I was carrying. They watched as I struggled with the last weeks of pregnancy, give birth and come home to raise the baby. I busied myself with taking care of my son despite their lack of support or even the slightest hint of affection. However, they let me stay at home and I was fed which is better than being chased away.
When my baby turned eight months old, I was given an ultimatum by my parents: “You either take this child to his father or drop out of university.”
I wanted to study and make a life for myself, so with a heavy heart I chose to take the child to his father’s home.
It’s been four years since I last saw my child. Not a day passes by without guild crushing me for the stance I took on that ultimatum. Sometimes, I sooth my conscience by imagining I am those women who work overseas and have to stay for years without seeing their children. But soon enough, harsh reality hits me. I am not those mums; I gave up my child. I have no idea how my son looks like, what he likes to eat.
I am about to graduate but you know what would give me real joy? Seeing my son again. At some point, I tried going for my son but his father’s family stopped me in my tracks. They reminded me—unnecessarily—that they had raised the child since he was eight months and I had no right to see him.
The saddest thing is that, my own parents who forced me into this predicament, now want me to bring them their grandchild. They claim to have had a change of heart. How I wish my parents had been there for me when I needed them the most.
