Love That Lasted Until A Tragic Goodbye

I was nineteen, approaching twenty, when Feye entered my life. He was twenty-three and in his final year at university. He professed his love for me, but I replied, “No, I’m too young to fall in love.” It was school vacation, and he had come to Kisumu to spend the holidays with his uncle. Throughout his stay, he persistently tried to win my heart. Deep down, I was attracted to him; he seemed more refined than the other boys who had shown interest in me. Being a university student suggested he had a promising future, and he hailed from the city. I wanted to say yes, but I remembered my parents' advice and declined.

My mother had urged me to focus on my studies if I wanted to succeed in life. My father was blunt: “Boys will get you pregnant and ruin your future. They’ll continue their education, become successful, and marry someone who matches their status. Be that woman who fits their future status, not a girl who got pregnant and was left behind.”

When school resumed, Feye left town, and I stopped thinking about him. The following vacation, he returned. He told me, “I’ll keep coming to Kisumu every vacation for you. When you say yes, I’ll find a job, work hard, and marry you.” His sincerity struck a chord, and the day before he left, I finally said yes.

That marked the beginning of a six-year relationship before we married. I recall a conversation with a friend the day after our wedding. She said, “You’re so lucky. You said yes to a man, and he took you to the altar. Some of us have kissed countless frogs but haven’t found our prince, and you found yours right away.” I hadn’t thought of it that way until she pointed it out. I replied, “I didn’t set out to find just one man. It just happened, and I consider myself fortunate.”

Married life was wonderful. It was a learning experience for both of us, and we were committed to making it work. From the start, I submitted to his leadership, telling him, “You’re the man. Lead, and I’ll follow.” He was supposed to lead, but he never made a decision without consulting me. Even when I encouraged him to proceed, he would ask, “But do you think it’s a good idea?” I would respond, “We don’t have all the answers. Let’s try it; if it doesn’t work, we can fix our mistakes.”

After work each day, we would sit on the couch and watch TV. I would rest my feet on his lap, and he would give me a foot massage without me asking. As soon as my feet landed on his lap, he would reach for them and start rubbing, all while asking about my day. I became addicted to this routine and always looked forward to it. One day, when I placed my foot on his lap, he ignored me. I wiggled my foot to get his attention, but he continued to ignore me. Finally, he said, “If you want it, you have to pay for it.” I asked, “In kind or in cash?” He replied, “Hmm, in kind.”

Before I could react, he threw himself at me, kissing and touching me. “But you haven’t finished the work?” I protested. He said, “Here, we take full payment before the work begins.” The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the couch, sweating and searching for where my pants had fallen during the encounter. It was just the two of us in our own world, living freely and creating memories together.

Our first child arrived just a year after we married—a boy. We wanted three children, so we began trying for another six months after our first. We tried repeatedly, but nothing happened. “Maybe we’re meant to have only one child,” my husband suggested. “Just maybe,” I replied. Our first child started school at three, and I often thought he was more my husband’s child. Feye bathed him in the mornings, prepared his meals, and packed his lunch. All I had to do was wake up, get ready, and prepare for work.

When our child turned five, I became pregnant again. The joy that filled our family was immense. Everything was fine until the second trimester. One morning, I woke up with abdominal pain, and just as that eased, a severe migraine hit. Some days, I could barely walk. It felt like the baby was dropping, forcing me to lie in bed all day. I couldn’t manage anything on my own. Hospital medications didn’t help, so we turned to herbal remedies, which also proved ineffective. At some point, I accepted the pain as part of the childbirth experience. The first pregnancy was easy, but the second was challenging.

In the early hours, when I moaned in pain, Feye would wake up, warm my herbal medicine, and help me take it. We would stay awake all night, and he would be by my side, rubbing my feet and reassuring me that everything would be alright. The last trimester was the hardest. He took leave from work to stay home and care for me. He cooked for the family, washed our clothes, and cleaned the house every weekend. During his rare moments of rest, I would place my feet on his lap for a foot rub.

Sometimes, I would watch him bustling around the house and think, “What would I do without you?”

I delivered our second child peacefully and more easily than the first. Finally, the struggles of pregnancy were over, and I returned home to a happy husband and a child who had missed my cooking.

One afternoon, Feye called from work to say he would be home late due to a work assignment. “It’s just an hour and a half drive. I should be home before 10 PM,” he said. I wished him a safe journey and reminded him to buy milk on his way back. At 8:45 PM, he called again: “Dear, I’m on my way. I should be home by 10 PM.” I told him to drive safely and not forget the milk.

By 10 PM, the kids were asleep, and I might have dozed off. I woke up around 11 PM, and Feye still wasn’t home. I called his phone twice, but there was no answer. At 11:26, I saw his phone calling. I quickly picked up. “Feye, where are you? It’s past 11 PM, and you’re still not home.”

“I’m sorry, this isn’t Feye. If you’re his wife, you need to come to Nazareth Hospital. Your husband is in critical condition.” Critical condition? What happened? I spoke to him just hours ago. “Please, tell me what happened!” The voice, a man, replied, “He was in a road accident and was rushed here.”

I called Feye’s older brother and informed him of the situation. Minutes later, he arrived at our house. I joined him in his car, and we drove to the hospital. It took us two hours to reach the hospital after I received the news. The doctor said, “I’m sorry, we lost him. We did our best, but he was too far gone.”

I can’t describe the pain I felt that night. If I tried to put it into words, I would relive the entire experience. It hurts less now, and I hope it stays that way. I was thirty-five when Feye died, thirty-five with two adorable kids who look just like their father. Why am I sharing this story when I should be recounting a happy marriage?

I was once happily married. I was a joyful girlfriend for six years and a content wife for another six, both to the same man. I don’t know what it’s like to be in a loveless relationship. I suppose I’m a fortunate woman. If given the chance, would I marry again? No, I wouldn’t want to. In fact, I can’t imagine being in a relationship with anyone other than Feye. So, I will cherish the memories of what we had and raise our children with the same love their father gave me, so they will one day understand how to truly love a woman.

—Njeri,  
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