Later, seated in her car, in the parking lot with her best friend, they cried and talked, cried again and talked again,and continued crying until the sun got overhead at noon and the building disgorged of corporate workhorses taking their lanyards for lunch. It was like he was speaking with words made of smoke. She just stared at him, his lips moving (just like in the movies) hearing none of the words that were coming out. She sat there not hearing him, clutching onto her car keys tightly. He cut to the chase she had cancer, he told her. He looked tired even before he opened his mouth. The technician who had the needle lodged in her breast asked her, “Can you feel any pain?” and she said, “No, I feel nothing,” and he too had that worried look on his face.Ī few days later, the doctor had her results in a brown envelope. When he was done, while he wiped his hands with sanitizer, he had a creased brow and that thoughtful look doctors have when they have felt an oncoming tragedy.Ī week later, they snuck a needle in the lump to suck tissue out. His stethoscope dangled from his neck like a pet monkey. Then she showered and wore her favourite flat shoes and went to see a doctor. What kind of a God would let her marriage end then let her contract cancer? What level of gallows humour was God playing at? It was probably nothing, she assured herself. She didn’t want to think that it could be cancer. She felt the hardness of that pebble in bed that night as a million questions pinged in her skull. ![]() She had stood under that shower feeling horror wash down her body. Something the sea washed ashore, and the sea spits out all manner of things ashore. It was while showering that she had felt a small, hard lump in her breast. ![]() “I found more security in that house than I did in my marriage.” “I mourned the loss of that house more than I mourned the loss of my marriage,” she said. She was left in a house that she could not afford, so she had moved with her two sons to her sister’s house in Kileleshwa, the house she finds herself with her sons this afternoon. Her white wedding dress hadn’t even gotten creased in the closet. He had packed up half of his stuff in the house and left. She’s about to tell them that she’s dying of cancer.īefore that afternoon, some three months ago, she had stood in the middle of a different room, her former living room, and watched her husband of five years leave her. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Golden Sounds Band on Frogtoon and Golden Sounds Band on Facebook 12) Videos from similar artist to H.N.In the dying afternoon light, Doris Mayoli, sits on a bed with both her young sons flanking her on either side. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Mombasa Roots on Frogtoon and Mombasa Roots on Facebook 11) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Habel Kifoto on Frogtoon and Habel Kifoto on Facebook 10) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Simba Wanyika on Frogtoon and Simba Wanyika on Facebook 9) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Fundi Konde on Frogtoon and Fundi Konde on Facebook 8) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Misiani on Facebook 7) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Sam Chege on Frogtoon and Sam Chege on Facebook 6) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Gabby Omollo & Omondi Jassor on Frogtoon and Gabby Omollo & Omondi Jassor on Facebook 5) Videos from similar artist to H.N. ![]() Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Daudi Kabaka on Frogtoon and Daudi Kabaka on Facebook 4) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Gidi Gidi Maji Maji on Frogtoon and Gidi Gidi Maji Maji on Facebook 3) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh: Fadhili Williams Mdawida on Frogtoon and Fadhili Williams Mdawida on Facebook 2) Videos from similar artist to H.N. Ochieng' Kabaselleh 1) Videos from similar artist to H.N.
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