Water Is Thicker Than Blood

Keziah stood by the cooker motionless. She was making some porridge for her mother. If you could see her, you could tell that her mind was far. But dutifully she stirred the pot and with every motion of the spoon in the liquid her mind teleported to a time when betrayal was a word in the dictionary, and she hadn’t looked it up. 

When she was 14 years old, she had a crush. Unlike most of the young girls in the village, Keziah had not yet experienced that pit in the stomach that one gets when they spot a charming boy. Yet during the Summer holidays when school was closed, she saw him. Antony had a perfect face and a slim body. He was medium height and had some beard coming out from his chin that complemented his rugged look. This 17-year-old was definitely a rebel. Keziah wondered whether Anthony’s parents bribed their son to get him to go to school. He looked defiant. Whenever Keziah met him on the road or in the market, she would have to fight the urge to run and hide. Oh., the cliches of love that were prophesied by Shakespeare were true. Whenever she saw him, he was more lovely than the summer day. 

“Hi beautiful,” said Anthony. 

“Hi,” said Keziah. 

“You look tired from carrying your basket. Need any help?”

“No thanks, I am fine.” 

“No, don’t be like that. Besides, I am heading towards where you’re heading. I’ve seen you by the Petrol Station near Mika Lane. I live near you,” said Anthony. 

“Okay. Fine. Yes, I live near the Petrol Station.” 

Keziah was erupting with joy within her as she walked home with her crush. It was a dream come true to walk side by side with Anthony. The slight twist on his lip as he talked about life made him more appealing. She wondered if he could see it in her eyes. The desire. 

“Thanks for helping me out,” said Keziah. 

“No worries. You’re a fly chic. I’m sure guys want to help you out all the time.” 

“Hmmm. Yeah,” 

“Hope to catch up with you later. Maybe get your number next time,” 

“Sure. We’ll see.” 

That night, Anthony was all she could think about.

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As the weeks went by, Keziah managed to sneak away from home to hang out with Antony. She could find an excuse to go to the market in the afternoons because she knew that he would be hanging out with his friends in the streets. Whenever he saw her, he would give her that stare, as if time had stopped. Keziah would relish each moment. Over time, they exchanged numbers, and night time became as exciting as daytime. 

“Hi beautiful,” didn’t see you today. 

“Hi, Antony. Had to help out my mom at the farm.”

“When I don’t see you, I feel like something’s not right. I feel like a rastaman without his weed.” 

“Lol, baby! I’ll see you soon. XOXO.” 

The crush had bloomed into a friendship with its dash of passion and dose of thrill. But the holidays were almost over and the two love birds would soon divert their attention to books. Neighbors weren’t blind to their blossoming friendship. Keziah’s aunt was among the neighbors who could perceive that there was more to the friendship between her niece and the young man. 

“But of course he is attracted to you. I mean, those curves,” said Keziah’s aunt. 

“Aunt. It’s not what it looks like,”

“You think I’m that blind because I wasn’t born in this smartphone generation! The guy likes you.” 

“Have you two done it?” 

The last question took Keziah aback. She didn’t expect her aunt to be so forward. I mean, what did she take her for? Keziah looked at her for some time as she could not get the words out. Of Course, they hadn’t done it. But that question. 

“I know you kids these days are so quick to try things out. But I want you to know that it’s okay. I won’t tell. These things happen. I won’t tell.” 

“Thanks, aunt.” 

Mmmmmh. It’s okay. 

There was something about that conversation with her aunt that made Keziah willing when Antony started kissing her. They were by the riverside casually watching the sun go by. As midday turned to afternoon, and afternoon to evening, the two lovebirds became bolder. 

They say that life is a cause and effect. The effect of giving in to passion was early pregnancy. 

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How do you hide pregnancy? If human beings could lay eggs, it would be easy. Lay the egg, smash it, and move on. But either evolution or God, whoever you believe in, chose that the baby would grow inside the womb. The morning sickness began and Keziah did her best to hide it. She would dash out of the house to vomit. When asked, she would give the age-old lie. “I think I’m unwell.” 

The aunt who had told her it’s okay became no different from a passerby. She would brush past her with a brief “hi,” as if she knew that something bad was brewing and she didn’t want any part of it. 

“Aunty, I think I am pregnant,” said Keziah to her aunt. 

“Oh, so you two…..what will you do?” 

“I don’t know aunt.” 

“Have you told your mum?” 

No! 

Keziah expected her aunt to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. Yet all she got was a blank stare and a distant look. You would think Keziah was a COVID patient by the way her aunt kept her distance. 

“Don’t worry, my child. All will be well. Just go home. We’ll figure things out.” 

“Thanks, aunt.”

Two days passed and Keziah’s mum entered her room. She came with an opened bottle of soda. 

“Drink this!” 

“Mum, I don’t want soda.”

“I said drink this!” 

One hour after taking the soda and Keziah bled out the baby. 

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“Mum, your porridge is ready,” said Keziah. 

Slowly, her mum rose out of the blanket. The chemotherapy had reduced the once vibrant woman to a featherless, lifeless chicken. A shell of a human being who was holding on to life yet death’s door was open to receive her. As Keziah sat down to feed her mom porridge, she recalled the childhood story of the Little Red Riding Hood. She remembered the wolf that was pretending to be Riding Hood's grandmother. 

“My my, what large eyes you have,” said Little Red Riding Hood. 

“Only to see you better my dear,” said the wolf. 

“My oh my,” what large teeth you have,” said Little Red Riding Hood. 

“The better to eat you with, my dear!” said the wolf. 

Hmmm...but that’s what Keziah’s mother did that day when he put an abortion pill in her coke. She may have been 14 years old, but she would have kept the child. Didn’t she have a say in the matter? Why did she feel the need to put her through that traumatic experience? 

Keziah bled out a mold of a baby. A lifeless mold of a baby that was hers. She saw what were its eyes, and incomplete form. A Frankenstein baby that was taken out of her room and buried outside like some pet. 

Years had gone by yet that moment haunted her. She was 23 years old now but she still recalled that night and it scared her. She wished that she could stretch her hands into heaven. 

“God. Where is my baby?” 

“I want my baby,” 

Yet in every dream she had about that night, she was helpless. She could not bring her child back to life. 

That moment had scarred her so deeply that she no longer took soda. Whenever her friends bought the drink she would sit there and stare at them. With every sip, she would recall the cramping and the blood that oozed out of her. 

After that encounter, her mother called her a prostitute. She scolded her for being too willing with men. Her mother forced her to get a contraceptive implant because she no longer trusted Keziah to make the right decision. 

Yet she was right. 

Since then Keziah had made it her mission to sleep around. She slept with anyone who would buy her alcohol and give her cash. There was no difference between this Cancer victim and the daughter. Keziah too felt lifeless. Her joy was long lost. 

Keziah’s mother began wheezing. 

“Calm down mother. Finish your porridge, then get some rest,” said Keziah. 

The frail woman obediently opened her mouth and gulped down some porridge. She listened to her daughter and pushed herself to finish her meal. 

“Will you take me out by the park tomorrow? I need some sun.” 

“Mum, you need all the rest you can get. But don’t worry. If you keep taking your meals, I’ll put you on the wheelchair and take you to the park.” 

“Thanks, Keziah.” 

That night, Keziah battled with her demons. She felt that her mother deserved all that was happening to her. She was not a kind woman. Still, she was her mother, the woman who educated her and raised her. 

Keziah sat by her bed as tears poured out of her. All she wanted was an apology from her mother. She wanted her to say that she was sorry for putting her through the ordeal of an abortion. Maybe now that she was going through cancer, she would repent. 

Maybe she would repent. 

Keziah decided to rest easy that night. Tomorrow, as she took her mom to the park, she would open up to her about that past. 

Maybe she would repent. 

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Saturday was as ordinary as any Saturday that Keziah had seen. The park was full of life with kids riding their roller coasters on the path. Roadside sellers stationed themselves strategically with their sweet-smelling snacks. There were a few couples strolling on the paths that intersected the green land. Some sat on the ground glued together like Siamese twins. All the people in the park were locals, and as you passed by you would hear a mix of the national language and English. 

If you saw the park that day, you would think that you’d stepped into paradise. People looked radiant as they basked in the soft rays of the mid-morning sun. The occasional giggling of children amidst the background of silence calmed Keziah’s senses. She sat there at the edge of a bench next to her mother who was in her wheelchair. Keziah’s mum had covered her hairless head with a turquoise headscarf. The scarf was secured into a bun behind her head, at the base of the neck. She had worn cheap topaz and silver studs in her ears. Her hollow-neck stuck out like the bark of a dry, leafless tree. 

Since the chemotherapy began, Keziah never left her mother’s side. She went with her through every weakening treatment. She would prepare a bath for her mother, choose an outfit for her and help her get dressed. Today, she had selected a black floral top with long sleeves, some black pants, and a long, blue knitted cardigan. Since the treatment, her mother developed the habit of wearing flat, closed shoes and ankle socks. Gone were the days of high heels, tight skirts, and tops that lured men into the bosom of her ravenous chest. 

The two ladies sat there at the bench. Keziah, the spitting image of her mother in her youthful days. And the mother, a startling reminder of how brutal life can be. They didn't chat much but focussed on observing the happenings in the park. They looked at the street urchin open the trash can looking for plastics. A skinny boy dressed in oversized rags sniffing glue. After taking out some plastic cans and securing a half-eaten burger, the boy scurried away. As if he knew that he didn’t belong in this paradise. 

Keziah felt like she did most of the work in starting the conversations. She would briefly tell her mom about the school, about some of her friends, about a movie she’d watched. Ever brushing the top of each conversation to avoid offending her mother. Like a mouse stuck in a room with a cat, she looked for a way to uncover the past. She wanted to bring up the wound that her mother had inflicted, with the hope that she would bandage this wound with an apology. After hours of casual conversations, she found a door into the past. 

“Mum, how’s aunty Emma?” 

“You mean, Lucas’ mom? Ah...she’s fine. It’s been a while since I saw her.” 

“I’m friends with her son on Facebook. He looks well,” said Keziah. 

“I heard that he’s studying Arts. Good luck getting a job with that.” 

“But mom, you never know…” 

“Last time I saw aunt, I was 14 years old,” Keziah continued, “Since we moved out of the village, I haven’t seen her.” 

“Me too. But we’ve talked on the phone. She is doing well for herself. She started exporting French beans to Europe. That job fetches a lot of good cash,” 

“Mmmmh….yeah,” said Keziah. 

“She used to be my favorite aunt. I remember…..I remember when she told me, It’s okay.” 

Keziah’s mother looked at her daughter inquisitively. “What’s okay?” 

Keziah lowered her head and recalled the incident. With each sentence, she fiddled with her hands and tried to control the trembling in her voice. They never talked about that incident since it occurred. Now, Keziah felt her strength leave her as she asked her mother this question. 

“Did you put an abortion pill in the coke?” 

“Yes,” 

“Why?” 

“Nkt. I did it to help you because you were a stupid girl. Getting pregnant at 14? Look at you now. A second-year law student. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have made it this far.” 

Keziah could not believe the words that fell on her ears. She hadn’t anticipated her mother to be unrepentant after all these years. She should thank her??? Keziah stared at her mother speechless. 

“Look. I sorted you out. Your aunt told me that you’d been laughing with some boy. I knew you were pregnant. But I wasn’t about to watch you ruin your life!” 

Keziah could not argue with her mother. She chose to sit there in silence. 

“Look, motherhood is hard. You were 14. I don’t know why you’re bringing it up now. But in time, you will thank me.” said her mother. 

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The mother and daughter returned from the park at about 6.p.m. Keziah’s mother was on the couch watching some talk show. Keziah was in the kitchen, preparing something for her mother. It was in the kitchen that she broke down. She wasn’t dicing the vegetables, but she was murdering them. Her hand held tightly to the knife. Her mind replayed the conversation at the park, again and again. 

“She should be thankful?” 

All that she could conclude in her heart is that her mother was the one woman she didn’t want to become. She hated her parenting and her character. Keziah never knew her father. Her mother raised her on her own. But is that why she was so hard on her? 

That night, Keziah did what she had always done. She fed her mother, gave her meds, and helped her change into her nightgown. But this night was not like the other nights because Keziah had made a decision. As she sat down by the table in her bedroom with a piece of paper and a pen, she wrote down these words:

“I love you mum, and I always will. 

But it’s time I took a different path.

I hope you’ll survive from cancer.”

She slipped the note by the bedside table in her mother’s room. She kissed her mother gently on the cheek. This was the last time that she would ever see her again. 

Keziah decided to cut ties with her mother and her relatives. To her, her aunt had betrayed her along with her mother. They never took the time to understand her.

That night, Keziah texted her aunt and the doctor that cared for her mother’s treatment. She informed them that she had left her mother on her own in her house and that she would no longer take care of her. 

The doctor called her three times. Her aunt called four times and texted her. “What’s going on Keziah?” 

But Keziah was no longer listening as she had made up her mind. 

There she stood next to the attendant at the railway station. Keziah took a ticket to the neighboring country, Tanzania. 

“You’ll have to wait for 45 minutes for your train,” said the attendant. 

“That’s okay,” said Keziah. 

That was the last time she was in Kenya, and the last time she saw her family. 

In time, Keziah gave birth to a son in a foreign land.