I’m Daniel Otieno from Kisumu, and there’s this one scorching Sunday afternoon near Manyatta Estate that still haunts me. I remember scrubbing up real good—throwing on my best light blue shirt (yeah, the collar was a bit worn) and shining those black shoes like they were brand new. My stomach was in knots, but I was excited too. After three amazing years with Achieng—whispering big dreams under mango trees, strolling along Lake Victoria’s shore, and vowing we’d build a better life together—I was finally meeting her folks.
She’d given me a heads-up: “They’re pretty traditional and strict,” she murmured as we approached their gate. “Just be you, okay?” I squeezed her hand, clutching my little gift bag with some sugar, tea, and bread—the best I could manage from my job selling motorbike parts.
Her dad, Mr. Okoth, was chilling on a wooden stool with his newspaper, while Mama Atieno stood there, arms folded, sizing me up. Greetings went fine; I kept it respectful, voice steady even though my heart was racing. They grilled me about my work and where I stayed—a simple single room with iron sheets and shared facilities. Then, boom, awkward silence. Mama Atieno turned to Achieng and dropped the bomb: “How can you waste time with a poor guy like this?” Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35371
