BETWEEN FLOODS AND FAITH

Chapter 7:Faith

Back in Nairobi, life didn’t pause to let us grieve.

The city moved fast — matatus blaring, people shouting, children running barefoot in the dust — as if nothing had happened.

But inside me, everything had stopped.

I’d wake up early for school, stare at my books, and see my father’s face between the pages.

Every time I tried to concentrate, his voice echoed in my mind:

“My girl, you’ll shine one day.”

Those words haunted me — not because they hurt, but because I didn’t want to disappoint them.

Mama was doing her best.

She’d wake up before sunrise, boil water for tea, and prepare whatever we could afford — sometimes just bread, sometimes nothing at all.

Her body was tired, her eyes darker than before, but she never stopped moving.

One morning, I asked,

“Mama, do you ever rest?”

She smiled faintly.

“Rest is for people who have finished fighting, my daughter. We’re still in the battle.”

Those words stayed with me.

When exam season came, I promised myself one thing — I wouldn’t fail.

I’d make all that pain mean something.

But it wasn’t easy.

Our landlord was threatening to lock the door again.

Some nights we studied by candlelight; other nights, the candle burned out before I finished a page.

There were times I wanted to give up.

Sometimes, I’d sit outside and cry quietly where Mama couldn’t see me.

Then I’d wipe my tears, whisper to myself,

“Judith, you can’t break now. You’ve already survived worse.”

And somehow, I’d find the strength to keep going.

When KCPE results were finally released, I was shaking as I walked to school.

The teacher handed me my slip and said,

“You did well, Judith. You really did.”

I looked down.

It wasn’t the highest mark in the school — but it was enough.

Enough to prove that I could rise, even from the ashes of everything I’d lost.

When I got home, Mama hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.

“You see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I told you this life owes us something.”

For the first time in a long while, I believed her.

After the KCPE results, I was selected to one of the best schools in the county.

Mama was overjoyed — she told everyone at church, everyone in the estate.

But when the admission day came, reality hit hard.

The fees were too high.

Mama tried everything — borrowing from friends, asking relatives, even taking small loans — but nothing worked.

My stepfather refused to help, saying,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

So I couldn’t go.

Mama cried that night.

Not because she was weak, but because she felt she had failed me.

The next week, I was accepted into another school — smaller, less known — but I told myself education is education.

Sometimes I walked to school on an empty stomach.

Other days, I stayed home because I had no fare.

When the fees piled up, teachers would chase me away.

I remember sitting outside the school gate, my books on my lap, watching the lessons continue through the window.

Mama had exhausted all her loan limits, but she never stopped trying.

She’d come home with tired eyes, look at me and say,

“Don’t give up, my daughter. This pain will pay one day.”

And even though my heart was heavy, I nodded — because I believed her.

Each step I took to school, each time I sat on the dusty road waiting for help,

I reminded myself of one thing:

I was my father’s promise and my mother’s hope.

And that meant I couldn’t stop walking — no matter how long the road.