Can love and concern for family only be expressed through money? This is a question many people are grappling with, albeit in muted conversations.
Ours is a society that lauds financial prosperity, so it is no surprise that the frequency and amount of money transferred between those who have it and those who do not have it in a family setting has become a sticky issue in many households.
Especially where parents and their children are involved, affection is measured in assets, love with liquidity and support gauged by the magnitude of generosity, often demonstrated through regular exchanges of money.
Many families are navigating a complex terrain where money is at the core of all phone calls and conversations, and failure to send some to parents or relatives is often met with attempts to guilt-trip the “wealthy” family members.
This is the case for one Keziah Odemba, 60, a firstborn in a family of six.
“We grew up in a traditional home. I felt that my two brothers were more pampered than us girls. They would be given money for doing simple tasks like taking a bath, and never had to step into the kitchen. Being the eldest, I was responsible for taking care of all my siblings. If any of them made a mistake, I was the one who got punished. As a child, this made me feel insignificant.
When I finished high school, my father got me a job as an untrained teacher. I would be paid Sh1,200. I remember I used to give my father Sh1,000 and was left with only Sh200, not because I really wanted to, but he expected me to. He would justify it that my siblings and my mother at home needed the money to buy food and other necessities.
When I was 20 years old, I joined university and got my first boom (allowance the government paid every month to students for their upkeep), my father was not doing well financially, so I paid for my sister’s tailoring course. I was not forced to support her, I was asked to.
After my sister completed her tailoring course, I started paying fees for our third born who was training as a hairdresser. When you start paying fees and catering for everyone’s needs, they start feeling like it is your duty. That is when resentment sets in
I remember one time I took home a sack of rice and when it was over my dad called me asking, ‘Don’t you know the rice is over?’ He did not request. He demanded.
I was lucky that I got a job immediately after university. And the responsibilities became more. It got worse when my father retired. He would spend weekends at home, entertaining his friends and relatives.
In the middle of these gatherings, my father would call me, subtly pressuring me to follow the example set by our relatives’ children who had done notable things for their parents.
He would ask for more money, not once, to set up businesses which always failed.
I helped them start a business of selling maize flour, but after a month they would eat the profit plus capital and I had to start from scratch. The profit was never ploughed back into the business and I always had to send more money.
The financial demands were never-ending. I remember one time, my mother visited me with my aunt. I borrowed Sh10,000 from the cashier at my office. I gave my mother Sh5,000 and my aunt Sh3,000.
My mother said that she was not going back home. ‘How can you give me just Sh5,000 yet there is no food or water at home?’ she said.
She refused to go and I could not chase her out of my house. It was such a tense period. I added her Sh1,000 and then promised to send more later. That is when she agreed to leave.
Two of my sisters, who passed on, did not make good choices of spouses. We were family yet so different, and their husbands felt that I never respected them.
One of my sisters died while giving birth. I took in her newborn, her fifth born. They had put her up for adoption.
My sister’s children faced resentment from her husband’s family. I could not bear to watch them suffer. I took them in when they finished primary school. I catered to their needs until they finished college.
My other sister only had one daughter. She gave birth to four children. To date, I am still the guardian of these children.
The last of my sisters passed on even before she turned 25. She died by poisoning. She was at her boyfriend’s house. I was living with her at the time and meeting all her needs.
One of my brothers is in a rehabilitation centre and the other one is working in the jua kali sector and often says that business is not good. He requests me to send him ‘something small.’
My father also died. I take care of my mother, and her grandchildren and I pay for rehab for my brother while still sorting out my other brother financially.
Since I have been in charge of my family’s finances all my life, I knew that should I get a husband he would have to be a superman. And since men like those are rare, I chose not to get married. However, I have a son.
For my children, nephews and nieces — from my experience — I do not want money to drive a wedge between us.”
Her story is similar to Cynthia Wangari*, 23, a firstborn in a single-parent family.
“I graduated last year and got an internship where I am paid Sh10,000. From this Sh10,000, I set aside some for my bus fare, I pay upkeep for my brother who is in high school and also shop for the family. I started fighting with my mother when she asked me to chip in and contribute money for the house rent. I cannot afford to.
My mother’s friend would scold me for “not seeing the effort my mother was making to provide for us”. She would say, “You do not see the struggle your mother is going through. You do not appreciate her efforts.”
I have tried explaining to her that I am stretched to the limit, but she never seems to understand.
Recently, I wanted to save a little money from the allowances I got from working outside town.
When I told my mother my plan she started quarrelling. She said I was selfish because she and my brother needed to be supported. I felt guilty and did not save the money.
There was a time when my mother had an emergency. She needed Sh5,000 urgently and I borrowed the money from my friends.
I asked my mother to refund the money. She lashed out. She said I should be the one to repay the debt.
Now I resent her because I feel I am neither heard nor understood. Every time I bring this up, she says that I should not talk back to elders.“
Joy Kwamboka*, 30, a firstborn in a family of three
“Growing up, I hardly saw my mother. She was studying at the university. I was left in the care of my father. So, I learnt to be independent from a very early age. When my siblings were born, I would be told to take care of them. I was more of a “deputy parent”.
My father quit his job when I was in Form Two and struggled to pay my fees. So, I knew that when I reached university, I had to hustle to survive. I started hustling from the first day I got to campus, and since I am a gifted writer, I would do some pieces to get money.
Because life at home was difficult, I was not comfortable having fun knowing my siblings may be sleeping hungry.
From the money I got, I would send some to my mother and that’s when they knew that I could take over some responsibilities.
When I completed university, and started working, my mother told me: “You know now your sister is your responsibility.”
I had just worked for two years and my sister was in high school. Her school fees was Sh80,000 a term and my salary Sh30,000. I got to “chamas”, and sought support from my then-boyfriend who warned me about the dangers of taking over financial responsibilities that ideally were my parents.
When my sister finished high school and joined university to pursue medicine, I paid for her education and it cost about Sh50,000 per academic year.
She did not want to stay in a hostel, due to peer pressure, so she rented a house outside campus.
Her monthly rent was Sh12,000 which I had to pay.
I did not want to because I felt it was unnecessary, but constantly threatened to commit suicide if I did not pay. Since my sister was under my care, I got tired of her nagging and paid the rent.
During this period, I was also helping my mother with buying foodstuff and providing financial support to my brother.
He was enrolled in a parallel degree programme at a private university, which was too expensive.
At the time, my mother was working as a nurse and she had taken so many loans, that her net salary every month was Sh4,000.
I remember one time when my brother was doing his diploma and had a deficit of Sh10,000 in school fees and could not be allowed to sit his exams.
My father called me a week before the exams and explained that my mother did not have the money, so I needed to chip in.
My brother needed exam fees and my sister who was also doing her final exams, needed cash. Luckily, I had a “chama” where I would occasionally borrow money from.
I sent the Sh10,000 for my brother’s fees, but my father did not pay it. He gambled the money.
On the morning my brother was going for the exams, my father even wished him well yet he had not paid the fees. My mother cried so much and asked why he could rob his own son. The previous year, I helped my father to build our rural home and to buy livestock.
Having people depending on you all your life, you never have time to rest. You are always working and looking for more work, so that you have money to cater for your family.
I got my wake-up call when I was supposed to go on a date with my current partner — of course, the other relationship ended.
I kept him waiting from 2pm to 5pm because I was finishing up work. It was not the first time that I had kept him waiting. He told me that I had to choose between him and money.
That is when I realised, I was doing a disservice to myself.
I put an end to the giving. To date, I know that my relationship with my father will always be transactional.
Every time I see his phone call, I ask myself how much do I have and how much I’m willing to give. Sometimes I ignore his phone calls.
Early this year, I called my family members for a meeting. I told them that I was thinking of starting a family and pursuing a Master’s degree. I also told them I needed to start living my life because they had been dependent on me all along.
