Eighteen years ago, I gave birth to our daughter in a crowded public hospital in Nairobi, expecting my husband to stand beside me as we welcomed our first child into the world.
Instead, moments after the delivery, he disappeared without a trace, leaving me weak, confused, and holding a newborn baby with no money, no food, and no idea how I would survive.
The days that followed were the hardest of my life. I remember crying quietly at night as my daughter slept beside me in the hospital cot. Nurses kept asking where my husband was, but I had no answers.
The days that followed were the hardest of my life. I remember crying quietly at night as my daughter slept beside me in the hospital cot. Nurses kept asking where my husband was, but I had no answers.
His phone was off, his relatives avoided me, and eventually I learned that he had travelled to another town with another woman.
I was discharged from hospital with stitches still hurting, carrying my baby in one arm and my small bag in the other. Deep inside, I felt my whole world had collapsed.