And Then Life Happens Read Online Free Page B

her.
    It is possible that I repressed everything that had to do with my biological mother in order to preserve my familiar world. I knew only my stepmother and our small family, and I desperately wanted it to remain the way it was. As long as my real mother stayed away, I thought back then, nothing would change. No wonder my brother, who could still remember her well, often got annoyed with me. Abongo probably viewed me as a horrible traitor.
    And it was also he who, soon after our stepmother’s departure, began to talk about the return of our biological mother.
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    My brother’s efforts are best understood against the background of Luo traditions. In our ethnic group, polygamy is customary, and a man is permitted to have several wives. He may, without having to get divorced, get married a second, third, or even fourth time. Thus my father and my mother, because they had had a traditional marriage, were, in the eyes of Kenyans, especially the Luo, not divorced—particularly in light of the fact that, for the Luo, after the delivery of the bride price (usually a certain number of cattle) and the birth of children, an official divorce is, as a rule, no longer possible. Even in the case of a separation, the couple continues to be regarded as married. If they remain childless, however, the wife is frequently blamed. In that case, if the man does not simply take another wife, a divorce is possible.
    As a consequence of the payment of the bride price, if there is a separation, all the children born from the marriage belong to the husband. They become his property, so to speak. And his wife is permitted to go back to her own family only after a return of the bride price. If she leaves her husband’s compound, for whatever reason, the children living with the father can demand her return. Usually, this is the responsibility of the oldest son.
    In the life of a Luo woman, another change occurs with marriage. As a result of the strict customs, she now loses her place in her original family. One ritual makes this particularly clear: Among the Luo it is customary to bury a deceased family member within the homestead. A married woman is traditionally buried on her husband’s compound. A divorced woman, however, even if she lives on her former family’s compound, is permitted to be buried only outside the homestead—because, despite returning home, she does not belong to her parents’ family, but still belongs to that of her husband. Both families are acquainted with this tradition and adhere to it.
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    When my brother began, at the age of fifteen, to make an intense effort to get our biological mother back, he was familiar with all this. He turned to her family to get in touch with her.
    One day a schoolmate of mine approached me and explained that she was related to me; our mothers were cousins. Over the years, I had been introduced to so many close and distant relatives that I didn’t think much of it. Now and then we visited each other, until one day this schoolmate came running over excitedly and urged me to accompany her home. I asked what was going on, but she answered only that I had to come with her immediately. It all sounded extremely mysterious.
    Since we did not live far away from each other, we were at her house in a few minutes. She led me into the living room, in which many people were sitting. I remained standing at the door nervously, because I didn’t know anyone except my aunt. But my cousin pushed me into the room from behind, and her mother called to me:
    â€œCome in, child. We have a surprise for you!”
    Shyly, I entered the room. I still hadn’t grasped what this was actually about.
    â€œDon’t you recognize her?” my aunt asked excitedly.
    I looked around without a word.
    â€œDon’t you recognize your mother?”
    Confused, I looked around the room once again. My mother? No, I didn’t recognize