Mary Wambui

Mary Wambui’s house is located further off the road than that of the other widows we visit. To get to it, we take a path through a cornfield, and the view is expansive. The steep green slopes of the Rift Valley rise before us in the distance; clouds drift through the blue sky. It’s a relief to be out in the open and enjoying the beauty of the landscape. Soon, though, we see Mary’s house – a mud and stick structure with a roof of iron sheeting so unstable that rocks hold the panels in place. The house itself is beginning to disintegrate in places, and John worries about the next heavy rain.
Mary’s situation is particularly desperate. She is a widow, like the rest of the women we see, but she has been ill for two years and has no hope of getting the medical attention she needs for her diseased leg. All four of her children have died; her surviving daughter-in-law is in Mahi Maihu, which we now understand to mean she is living in prostitution. Mary sometimes has her grandson staying with her. Unable to work, she is grateful for the neighbours who come to help with the washing and to harvest the corn and beans.
John describes Mary’s life to us as we near her house, and it is clear that she is particularly special to him. As we enter her gate and I see her slowly and carefully moving through the door of her house into the yard, a slight, stooped figure, I feel a rush of compassion. I go to her and offer the traditional Kenyan greeting among women: I press each of my cheeks firmly against hers, and then we embrace each other. She must feel a connection, too, because after we go inside and sit down she holds my hand until I interview her and I need my hand to write her responses. It seems ridiculous to offer solar lights to a woman who needs so much else, but she is happy for our visit and happy for the lights. She says it was too much trouble and money to buy kerosene for her lamp, and the battery in her flashlight gave out long ago. Now she no longer has to sit in the darkness. “I have a lot to praise God for,” she tells us as we pray with her and take our leave.