I’d been putting money aside for months from my little salon in Githurai, Nairobi. A thousand shillings here, two thousand there—whatever I could spare each week. No new outfits for me, no nights out with friends. I even stayed late cutting hair to make extra. All of it was for Christmas. I wanted the kids to have proper new clothes, plenty of food, and maybe a quick trip upcountry to see family. By December, I’d saved about Sh 120,000. Kept it safe in a locked metal box in our bedroom.
Samuel, my husband, knew all about it. We’d been together nine years. He had his issues with finding steady work and drinking too much, but I kept hoping he’d turn things around. Marriage takes time, I told myself. Just days before Christmas, I went to add more cash. Opened the box—and it was empty. My stomach dropped. I checked twice, then searched the whole room. Under the bed, in drawers, everywhere. Nothing.
That evening, I asked him straight when he got home. “Where’s the Christmas money?” He wouldn’t look at me. “What money?” he said. Then he got loud, accusing me of blaming him, and walked out. I couldn’t just sit there. Grabbed my sweater and followed him. I knew where he’d go—the usual spot near Kasarani with his buddies. Peered into the bar, and sure enough, there he was, laughing away. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35574
