At first, the out-of-town trips were something Muna looked forward to every weekend, but that was until she realised Wesonga missed hanging out with his friends, so she suggested they do it once a month. She saw the relief on his face before he hid it.   

The chaotic city outings never did grow on her, and whenever she went out, she would end up having a terrible time, and Wesonga would have to feign fatigue so they could leave together. Then she asked him to go out without her. 

“Only if you move in with me so I can find you at home when I come back. I mean, your couch is all nice, but I like my bed - you will like it too.” 

Soon after, four life-changing events happened in quick succession. A month into moving in with Wesonga, she started her new job at the hotel as a front desk customer service manager. Two months later, she registered for an online Human Resources course with a British university. He paid for it in full. Two months later, she got pregnant.  

Her marriage proposal came last. “We cannot have a child outside marriage,” Wesonga told her. Muna hesitated, not because she was weighing options, but because she did not want to appear too enthusiastic and, deep down, she felt they were moving too fast. 

On a hot August Sunday afternoon, Wesonga took her to Redhill to meet his family. Even with Muna’s childhood experience with opulence, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw the moment they drove onto private roads with vast tea plantations and no visible houses from the road. 

There was the first gate, opened by a uniformed security man, through a long driveway into another gate with another uniformed security, into a compound so manicured, she was sure it was synthetic. 

Parked next to the vehicles under the shaded parking lot a few metres from the house, Wesonga’s car no longer looked big.

“You grew up here?” She whispered in wonder after Wesonga engaged the handbrake. “It is so huge.”

“I keep telling you I have more money than brain-power, and you know my brain power is phenomenal.” She did not giggle as usual. It felt too real. It was a mirror that reminded her that she had nothing, a reminder of how different they were. 

She followed him to the house, hiding behind his large frame, wondering if she could bolt off and if the guards would stop her. Inside the house behind a heavy wooden door, she noticed the high ceilings, saw a chandelier she had only read in books or seen in movies, lit by soft orange lights. Then she noticed the three people swallowed by the vastness of the living room, all seated on the same couch. 

Neither of the three people stood up to greet them, but she felt their art-piece-like scrutiny as she forced a smile she did not feel. Wesonga was talking, they were responding, but her brain refused to register what they were saying. 

She shook their hands, if they could be called handshakes. The only one who clasped her palm was the father, also the only one who showed any sort of emotion. He smiled. Chausiku and the mother stared at her like she was a wall hanging they had never noticed before, nodding as Wesonga did introductions. 

 Wesonga’s mother, in her late forties, slim and poised, must have been a dazzling beauty in her younger days, but her gaze was too hard for Muna to see the beauty. Her skin tone was similar to Wesonga’s - somewhere in the middle of light and dark brown tone, but she had the kind of glow that came with beauty routines and hydrating.

Chausiku was a nose-ringed fresher and fiercer version of her mother with an even better scowl and a piercing gaze that, after the initial moment, no longer held friendliness nor curiosity. 

Muna and Wesonga sat next to each other at the dining table. When he held her hand in assurance under the table, Muna allowed her shoulders to relax. Just a little, because she could still feel the glares of the two women.

Halfway through the meal and loud silence, Wesonga spoke, briefly recounting how they met in med school, leaving very few details out.

The father, a rotund man with a kind face and the middle of his head free of hair while stubbornly refusing to shave the rest of it, asked the first questions. Why did Muna drop out of medical school? Was she planning to go back? Where were her parents? How many siblings did she have? She answered as she looked at him, her gaze soft and submissive; his, gentle, but she felt the laser ones from the other two.

It was when Wesonga dropped the pregnancy news that the room turned stone cold and silent for what could have been five seconds or five minutes. A worker in the kitchen dropped a plate, and everyone jumped. Muna dared not look up; instead, she looked at her lap and squeezed Wesonga’s hand under the table. 

 Then there were delayed gasps from the mother and Chausiku.

 Then the father spoke. “What are your plans?”

“Marriage.”

“What?” It was difficult for Muna to tell who between Chausiku and the mother spoke louder.

“What do you mean, what?”

Chausiku sniggered. 

“You just graduated! You have your internship and residency.”

 Wesonga was calm. He took another bite of his food, chewed for a few moments, then said, “I know that, Mom.”

 “You are so young!”

“Mom, Chausiku and I are twins, remember? She has been married for three years and has two children.”

 “That’s different.” The mother’s voice was lower.

Muna risked looking at her, a picture of anger and disappointment, almost disgust. She looked at Chausiku and quickly looked away. 

 “Are you sure?” The father finally spoke.

“Yes, Dad, I am sure. We are sure.”

“Then you have my blessings.”

 Chausiku excused herself and a few moments later, they heard a door bang. Muna winced. 

Only Wesonga continued eating. Muna looked straight ahead at nothing in particular - she was trying to regulate her racing heartbeat. Wesonga’s mother had her hands on her forehead, looking down at the table, shaking her head slowly like one who had just received a piece of tragic news. The father studied the son, calmly but without betraying any emotions. 

 “Help me clear the table.” The mother said when Wesonga was done eating. All other plates had leftover food. Muna picked up her plate and Wesonga’s and followed the mother to the kitchen. 

 “Are you serious about my son?” She asked when they entered the kitchen. 

 Muna nodded. “I think so…,” she said hesitantly as she stood next to the sink full of dirty dishes, twiddling her thumbs. 

 “Think?”

“I am sure.”

 “You do not sound sure at all.” Muna stayed silent and continued twiddling her thumbs and looking at her toes. “You are too weak for him.”

 “What?” Muna looked up. 

The mother nodded. “I know my son. He is like his father and needs someone who can stand up to him, and you look like you do not like trouble.”

 Muna looked at her adversary in disbelief but secretly impressed with how fast she had worked her out. 

 “If you are going to hang on to him, you will have to learn how to stand up to him, and other women, because there will be other women. Even better, leave him while it is still early.”

 Muna shook her head, not in refusal, but in disbelief. She could feel her face growing hot. She willed her jelly legs not to let her down. She turned her gaze towards the window that did not reveal more than an old tree.

“Leave him. I can pay you enough.”

 “It was nice meeting you. Excuse me.” Muna left the kitchen on shaky legs and wet eyes.

 ***

 “What did you and mom talk about that made you look so terribly flustered?” Wesonga asked when they entered the car to leave.

 “Nothing much. She was just trying to get to know me, and your mom looks scary.”

 “You would tell me if she told you something that made you angry, wouldn’t you? I know my mother, and as much as I love her, she can be a real piece of work.”

 “I would be more worried about your sister. She did not say a single word to me.”

 They both laughed. He kissed her, reassured her, and they drove out.

***

They did not go to Wesonga’s house because Muna asked him to drop her at Kavinya’s. He nodded, understanding that she needed her friend. 

“They hate me!” Muna burst out as soon as she let her in. “They hate me so much. And I have never seen such a display of wealth! I think they hate me because they can smell the poverty in me - you do know poverty smells, don’t you?” 

“Well, hello to you too.” Kavinya said as she closed the door. “Would you perhaps want a cup of tea?”

She made two cups. 

“Can you believe the mother offered to pay me to leave him?”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I said nothing, but I hated that for a moment, I thought it was a good idea. I cannot do that to him.”

“Those people would be your in-laws if you go ahead with this so I am going to ask again, are you sure this marriage thing is what you want? I mean, I thought dating was bad enough already…”

Muna paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Does it matter? I am already pregnant and I sure cannot take care of a baby on my own right now.”

“But you do not have to keep it.”

“What do you mean?” Muna asked. “What else would I do with it?”

Kavinya shrugged. “Abortion is an option.”

Muna gasped and for the first time since she met Kavinya, she was angry with her. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.  “Stop looking at me like that. There is a lot to unpack with you two. For starters, I am not convinced that you two will last. In fact, his mother’s idea is probably the best - of course, depending on how much she would offer.”

Muna’s anger was replaced by helplessness she expressed by weeping. “What do I do?”

“Either have an abortion, or suck it up. Or take the mother’s offer. Whatever you do, get more money from that man because the stakes are now much higher.”

***

Wesonga picked Muna up from the office on Monday evening. It was during a traffic stop that she blurted out, “I could have an abortion.” 

“Over my dead body! How could you even think about that?” He sounded horrified, and she felt horrified by the way he grabbed her arm. 

She turned away, tears rolling down. 

“Muns, listen. You are carrying my baby. There are other reasons I want you, but that alone is a good enough reason.”

“We are too young.”

“Don’t let my mother get in your head, please. I am financially able to take care of you. We will figure it out along the way, relax.”

She felt exhausted by the conflict in her head, no longer sure about what she was doing, or why she was doing it. The only thing she was certain about was, she had no plans of ever going back to living frugally.

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