“I have never wanted children. I did not know how to tell you, and I did not want to tell you to get rid of it, you know?” “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, STEVE?” I yelled into the phone as every emotion that had been pooling up in me broke the banks of my reserve.“I am sorry,” he said, like that was supposed to fix anything. Like he could feel sorry for the pregnancy away or my pain away or the fact that he had left me for months. Months! “Where are you, Steve? Where were you? Where have you been…?” I cried into the phone. I was still crying hours after he hung up. I tried the number again. It was off. He was gone.

We spend a great deal of time talking about how, when and why women should get married. We talk about dating, beauty, femininity, fertility, compromise, being a “good woman” and finding a man who is ready to settle down. We rarely spend the same amount of time asking what a woman is expected to surrender once she has acquired the title she was encouraged to desire.

Down the corridor, where the shoe rack stood, was the main bedroom. There was no way I could wake her without waking everyone in the house. I was not even sure I wanted to. In fact, sometimes, I was certain I did not. She was old, ugly, and a house help.

Many African marriages today are being negotiated by people who inhabit two different worlds simultaneously. Many of the women in that room were solid professionals. They earned incomes, managed households, raised children and contributed financially to their families. They participate in public life in ways that were unavailable to many of their mothers and grandmothers. Yet the moral framework presented to them still assumed that authority naturally rested with their husbands, that female submission is virtuous and questioning that arrangement is evidence of rebellion rather than reflection.

“Masikonde may be changing his mind. I don’t want him to change his mind,” She added quickly, like a caveat to show she had nothing to do with it. And she spoke in length. About his sudden change of attitude, and mood. Their conversation last night. “I did not know who else to talk to, so I came here.”

By the time she reached him, she was weeping loudly. She fell on his chest, only stopping when Saitoti started crying loudly. “Sorry... Sorry. I just feel so bad because I have not come to see you for so long. I am sorry...” She ran her newly soft fingers across his face and noticed his eyes straining to focus on them. She pulled them away and folded her palms into fists.