“Who would marry me if he finds out I have children?”  she announced.  “Sele is the one, mama.”

“You are going to leave them here with me for good?”  I asked my first born Ashura as I pushed more firewood with my walking stick into the fire to make the small kitchen warmer.

“Of course I will come get them once I am settlled in marriage,” she answered as she looked picked a bone from her plate.  With one eye shut she peered through the cavity of the bone then sucked.

I looked at my kifungua mimba as she sucked the bone noisily with both her eyes shut.  Kassim was also the one, until a month ago when he decided to leave Ashura for another woman.  He wanted to make sure that Ashura could have children before they got married, he didn’t want to end up with a barren wife.  At the end, he left Ashura with his proofs of two years old Zaituni and fourteen months Zukia.  Like any mother I did want my daughter to get married so with open arms I welcomes Zaituni and Zukia in my life.  Besides the grand-children would also add some vivacity into my rather quiet and drab life.

 I turned around and I looked at Zaituni and Zukia who were quietly sitting on a straw mat eatting their dinner.   Zaituni, the oldest, chewed as she gaily shooed away fowls who came close to the sinia of food they were sharing hoping for some crumbs.  A big red cock boldly jumped onto the metal tray and ran off with a lump of ugali, making both Zaituni and Zukia shrill with sudden fright.

*****

I didn’t hear from Ashura again until after a year.  She didn’t have the glow she had the last time she visited.  Neither Zaituni not Zukia recognized their mother. On tow was another baby. Zaituni walked around us in an anxious stroll. A scrawny stray dog, who had become Zaituni’s companion and friend followed behind, sniffing the baby as he strolled by her. The more Ashura tried to warm up to her daughters, the more they both cowered away.

With the baby, there was also five kilograms of rice, a tin of Kimbo cooking oil, five kilograms for feeding two mouths and now with another one added.  The dog sniffed the tin of oil then turned away. With his tongue hanging out, he went to the straw mat where the baby was sitting and curled next to her.

Looking at the scrawny dogs whose ribs were so visible that I could count them, I remembered the last time Ashura was here, I remembered the bone she sucked and wondered if the scrawny dog would have loved it too.

“I didn’t know I was expecting Kassim’s child when I met Sele, Mama.  He has left me.  And it will be dufficult for me to take care of her while working in the city.”

Again, I welcomed little Zuhura in the bed I now shared with Zaituni and Zukia. That night I looked up to the skies and prayed to God – thanking Him for the food and the new grand daughter that arrived in my house that day. 

*****

After almost three years of having not seen my second born, Mwanaidi, she visited me unannounced bearing gifts. I had never received so many gifts before – not from any of my seven children.  Instead of small bags, she had brought whole sacks of food – maize flour, rice, beans, millet, sugar, cooking oil, dried sardines, peanuts and clothes.  Lunch that day was rice, beans and kisamvu cha karanga. The kisamvu  was smooth and thick as Mwanaidi had pounded the cassava leaves and peanuts well. That night I looked up to the skies and prayed to God – thanking Him for the food and the long lost daughter that arrived in my house that day – and the good man who was providing for her. 

The gifts kept coming and I kept looking up to the skies and prayed to God – thanking Him for all the wonderful gifts.  Like luck would have it the gifts stopped coming just as suddenly as they had started pouring in. Mwanaidi was brought back home bundled up and as skinny as a stick. With her, there were four other grand children, I was not even aware of.   

“He died, mama, and his family threatened to kill me, saying I killed him,” she had cried.  “They even refused to take care of his children!  I know it’s the wife.  She hated me.”

*****

Jamila my fourth born visited also after a long time with a mzungu.  Her mzungu had hair as white as cotton wool and the most wrinkled skin I had ever seen.  Silently I wondered what Jamila saw in such an old man, but looking at the gifts pile I kept quiet. This one would be different I told myself – after all he is a mzungu. I knew we would be well taken care off. That night I looked up to the skies and prayed to God – thanking Him for the mzungu who will make sure we don’t go hungry. 

That Saturday afternoon, the weekly bus from the city didn’t drop off sacks of food as usual, instead it was Jamila who got off in tears, weak and with horrible rashes – with two children behind her  Her neck bones stood out so much, reminding me of Zaituni’s scrawny dog.

“He provided well financially, but he couldn’t provide, erm,” she stammered as she tried to explain, “you know, erm, physically.  I have needs too, mama.  I am young and vital, mama.  After he kicked me kicked me out, I went to live with Uno, my other boyfriend.  But, but, I didn’t know he was sick, mama.”

With two sick daughters, nine grandchildren and no income – that night I looked up the skies and asked God if there was no end to this.