Chapter Two: She CAN Be Loved

The thing with reality is that it tends to differ. Coloured by the tint of the beholder's eyes. Mumbi's reality was one of being unappreciated, unnoticed, and unimportant. Because that was the only way she had ever seen her reality at home.

That wasn't the full picture though.

...

Have you ever been told, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." That's what all of Mumbi's friends, classmates, teachers, heck - even the support staff - at her school were always on the verge of telling her. That's what everyone who met her and encountered the light she effortlessly radiated would think. Maybe, just maybe, if she could see herself through their eyes, exist in their realities, she might just realise she was worthy.

She had her mother's full brows and more than her fair share of her father's kindness. She was kind. Not nice. Kind. The kind of person to go out of their way for others, regardless of the consequences. The kind of person who loved fiercely and equally. The kind of person you could walk up to in the middle of their toughest day and they'd still lend you a shoulder to cry on. Kindness like that is rare. And she had it in droves.

From a very young age she was often the smartest person in the room - even though she would never notice it. Her grace and compassion didn't leave any room for pride. In school, she was unknowingly a tutor and mentor to many. They looked up to her even when she couldn't stand to look at herself. When you were around Mumbi, you felt like you were worthy. Like what you had to say mattered. Like your thoughts and ideas were fit for a Nobel or at the very least an honorary mention in a publication.

Mumbi wasn't popular by the conventional definitions. She wasn't strikingly stunning, she didn't dictate unattainable standards or have a flock of loyal minions at her beck and call. Her round face, pudgy nose and full cheeks always made her look five years younger than she was. She didn't have the prettiest face, or the enviable body. Her hair was more dirt brown than jet black. She wasn't particularly tall or slender. Her face wasn't long and narrow with chiseled cheekbones and dainty features.

Somehow, in spite of all this - partly because of it - everyone wanted to be her friend. And she let them all in. She was always bubbly and bouncing with an energy that could be harnessed to power a continent. She spoke to everyone like she had known them all their lives. She had a way of getting anyone to feel comfortable around her, lower their guard and break down their walls. Like moths attracted to the flame, everyone was drawn in by her light.

You know the saying, "What's in a name?" Well, Mumbi's name was perfect. Fitting. Like Leo Messi or Beyoncé. Names endowed with so much greatness that the holders could never be anything less than. In her culture, Mumbi was "the one who shapes or creates". Kikuyu mythology regarded Mumbi as the mother - wife to Gikuyu and mother to the ten daughters from whom the clans came. Not many a name share the same responsibility, or burden. Yet somehow, she managed to live up to it everyday.

Every sport and co-curricular activity you could think of, Mumbi was part of. She was good at all of it too. A modern day jack-of-all-trades, master of most. It was the kind of absolute God-given brilliance you couldn't teach, train or drill into a child. In fact, the day she finished high school, the front office secretary, Carol, told her, "I'm certain this is not the last time I'll see you, but najua next time nitakuona pale kwa gazeti ama CNN, saving the world."

You'd think that all the time she spent in debate club, or learning lines for a play, or choreographing a dance, or captaining the basketball team to victory, or - well, you get the point, she stayed booked and busy. You'd think all that time left her none to get good grades. And you'd be right because she didn't get good grades. She got excellent ones. Straight As were the constant. She was excellent even at the subjects she hated. She was one of those people who grasped things so fast, whose brains computed concepts before the teacher even spoke or the page was even turned.

Amidst all the sports, and the clubs, and the books, Mumbi still had time to be a good daughter. Her mother's absence and indifference not withstanding. She would get home from school and start on dinner before she started on homework. Over the weekends, she was the one supervising the cleaning lady who came every Saturday, and organising the affairs of their household. When she was old enough, she was the one who would do the grocery shopping and meal planning. Her dad paid of course, but she did the grunt work. She didn't just raise herself, she practically held her family together in between dance practice and sleepovers.

In Mumbi's reality, she was just an average teenage girl - going to school, helping out at home, participating in activities. To the outsider looking in, she was outstanding. Her teachers would often catch themselves lamenting in the staff room that they, as fully grown adults, didn't have their lives together the way that 13-year-old did. Her friends were constantly in awe of her, even when their parents drew annoying comparisons to her that always started with, "you should be like Mumbi." It didn't matter to them, as long as they could go to school five days a week and get to be in close proximity to her.

In fact, the only people who weren't mesmerised by Mumbi were the people who had never met her.

If only she could see herself the way they saw her, maybe the mental burden she trudged along with like an unwelcome roadside companion, the self-doubt shackled to her in constantly clanking metal chains that she couldn't loosen, the emotional turmoil that walked in perfect step alongside her, the anguish she let take the lead and show her the way, would all dissipate. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe.