The Sunshine

By Kezhakielie Whiso

She was divorced four years into her marriage; just after she had given birth to their third  child, a boy. Kienuo’s husband left her and their children for another woman. And now she  was left alone to fend for their children without a father and a regular job. Some hard times  were past, harder days lie ahead. She braced herself for the worst. 

Kienuo had got married at the young age of nineteen. That was quite the norm in her  time, though. At twenty-three, she was already a mother of three boys. And that her husband  had left her for a younger woman was quite unthinkable in the beginning. When she met her  husband Balie, a burly, handsome man in his early thirties, she had thought that her world  was complete. Now, her world lay shattered. She had to pick up the pieces and start all over  again. With the added burden of three children. Not that she considered them a burden. On  the contrary, she loved them wholeheartedly. They meant the world to her. They were the  reason she was still hanging on; still fighting. And the fight just got tougher. 

Balie worked as a teacher in a private school. But following his father’s footsteps and  influence, he also did minor contract works of construction for the government that his father  managed to acquire for him. And although not regularly, his contracts fetched more money  than his job at the school, which he intended to leave anyway. He was simply waiting for his  big break in the world of contracts- land a big one and also get the 'promotion' to a first-class  contractor. His wait had been futile so far. Meanwhile, life had taken an entirely new  direction when he met Azanuo, a fellow school teacher, who managed to steal his heart from  his wife. 

But things were quite different in Kienuo's world. Her eldest son was barely three  years old, the second had just turned two, and her third and youngest son was only a couple  of months old when Balie decided to leave her and go separate ways. She was heartbroken at  first. Her family didn’t help much. Her father’s reaction at her divorce had been nothing less  than sarcastically caustic. It was her mother, who was more reasonable. She even invited her  to come and live with them. At least until the children had grown a little older. But her pride  as an independent woman kept her from going back to her parents’ house. Besides, her  marriage to Balie was not exactly approved by her parents. She felt that she had to come out  of this alone. 

The comments from the elders of her clan weren’t any less scathing. They put the  entire blame on her; who asked her to marry a 'mezhamia,' they said, referring to Balie and  his ancestry. Balie was 'mixed' blood, you see. His grandparents were from another tribe, one  which was referred along with a few others, mostly derogatorily, by Kienuo's tribesmen as  'mezhamie.' They had migrated to Kohima and got adopted into her tribe. Not only that, they  had prospered and acquired great wealth as well. Now, they had been fully 'integrated’ into  their new tribe for more than two generations. But two generations was not enough. And  whenever important events like marriages came up, it was the norm for clansmen and 

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relatives to dig deep into the roots and lineages of the one who they were marrying their  daughter to. It was not very different with the groom’s side of relatives either. And the roots  was one of the main reasons why they had disapproved of Kienuo's marriage to Balie. They  wanted Kienuo to marry someone closer home; most preferably someone who was from their  tribe. She was to blame entirely for this divorce; it had now opened the proverbial can of  worms as far as she was concerned. 

Initially, even her neighbors did not spare her. They seemed to think that the fault was  mostly, if not all, hers. She could not keep her husband happy enough, leading him to look  for another woman; as if 'keeping her husband happy’ was the only reason she married him.  And what about him keeping her happy, she thought to herself. But the gossiping neighbors  spoke as if they knew exactly what was going on in their family. Kienuo’s reputation, if any,  was in tatters. Not that she cared too much about it. Their divorce, it seemed, was the talk of  the town for a while. It certainly was the talk of the neighborhood. 

The church reacted in its typical style- took away their memberships. That meant being struck off in the church register. They each had to confess individually in front of the  congregation to win back their membership. This was, of course, because they had also taken  their marriage vows in the presence of the same congregation. Separation or divorce was an  offense taken very seriously by the church for very genuine reasons. That didn't, of course,  stop divorces from happening. Kienuo was too timid and nervous about confessing her sin in  front of the church; it was, to say the least, easier said than done. So, she for now, she kept  her confessions and repentance between herself and her God. She believed that was why she  was able to bear all the attacks and criticisms that came her way post her divorce.  

In fact, to her surprise, she recovered from the drastic events quicker than she had  expected. She had too many things on her hands to be bogged down by separation, however  shameful and painful it was. She had to move on. And she did. They had been left behind in  their little two-room set cottage, which Balie and Kienuo had rented soon after their marriage.  This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, Balie had told her. With an expanding  family, they’d move into a larger house. Balie had even promised Kienuo a home of their  own. His family had land in several parts of town, and Balie was confident that he would  soon inherit part of his share of the family wealth. All these had added to the gloss of their  short courtship before Balie proposed, and Kienuo more than willingly said yes to the proposal. But now the situation had changed completely. The little house they had been left  with appeared more than a temporary arrangement for now. 

Meanwhile, Kienuo was desperate for a job, any job. She had to feed her three  children. And soon, her eldest would become old enough to go to school. The little money  she'd saved from their wedding day would sustain them for a while but not for long. For a  brief period, she had found a job in a grocery store nearby, but that didn't last long as the  owner went bankrupt and had to close the shop. She was not qualified enough to teach in a  school either. She hadn’t completed middle school. Even in her day, a matriculation  certificate was required by any school for the job of a teacher. Into an unapproved marriage, 

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three children, divorced and jobless, Kienuo thought herself to be the epitome of society's  misfits. But fate had other things in mind, it would seem. Opportunities opened in the most  unlikely of areas. 

In her desperation, she had applied for the job of selling milk, which came from the  government-run co-operative. She was not qualified for the job, technically, as the job  required not just handling milk and customers but a little accounting as well. But on the  recommendations of one of the board members, they called her for an interview. Kienuo was  nervous at the prospect of facing an interview board, something strange to someone who  hadn't even completed middle school. Surprisingly, for the board, her school leaving  certificate was the only thing missing in Kienuo. She seemed to have all the other required  credentials- honesty and integrity, good communication skills, and her little experience  working as a 'manager' in a grocery store. They hired her. This was the beginning of the end  of some of her troubles. She could pay the rent, put food on the table, and bring home her  quota of a liter of fresh cow milk daily. The sun had just peeped out of the clouds since her  bitter divorce. 

Her new job required her to get up very early in the mornings. A challenge for any  young nursing mother. But she couldn't effort to lose what was the only lifeline. She would  often take all her three children to her job. Other times, she would leave her older kids with  the neighbors and take the little one to her work, a good part of four kilometers from her  house. She came back from her morning shift by 10 o'clock. In the evenings, she was  required again from three to six. This was less stressful.  

Kienuo was placed inside a little wooden booth, 6' x 6' in size with one door and one  large, low window. Inside the cabin was a small table with a drawer and an old chair. On the  floor would be placed the large, heavy aluminum cans filled with milk. Each can could hold  50 liters of milk. They were delivered to the booth at six o’clock in the morning and again at  three o’clock in the evening. People would line up in long queues in the morning for the  fresh, unprocessed cow milk. Customers came with aluminum cans- those with a wire handle  and a lid attached to the top of the narrow neck with a hinge. These cans were of various sizes  from half a liter to as big as 10-liter capacities. 

Kienuo would reach the booth before the milk van arrived and with the help of the  driver and his handy-man, shift the large jars inside. Once in, she would lock the door from  the inside and get ready with her liquid measuring mugs- half-liter, one liter, two-liter sizes.  Once she was ready, she would get up and open the window. This was the most exciting part  of the morning’s proceedings. The millisecond Kienuo opened the window, close to twenty  people would, at the same time, stick their aluminum cans into the window. This caused a  loud clanging noise and a massive traffic jam of cans. The beggings of the customers to be  served first added to the noise. From the inside of the booth, one could see the bottoms of  twenty-odd cans jammed together. It seemed people were as desperate for milk as Kienuo  was for this job. After the initial chaos, which sometimes tested her patience to breaking  points, Kienuo would patiently take each can, fill it with the amount of milk asked, and 

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somehow managed to give it back to the right pair of hands, along with the right amount of  change. Slowly, the number of cans would decrease, and air would flow into the booth again! Till the last customer had had his milk, Kienuo would wait. When all the customers had been  served, she would rearrange the now empty cans, count the day’s earnings and wait for the  van to come and pick up the cans. She would then go home to her children. Her evening  routine was less stressful; there was less milk, and there were fewer customers. At the end of  the week, Kienuo would turn in the money at the cashier’s office. 

From putting the kids to bed to putting them to school, Kienuo saw it all. The years  flew by quickly. For years she thought that she didn't have the time to socialize, in the church  or out of it. Yes, she had few precious hours to herself in the middle of the day, given the  nature of her job. That was perhaps a blessing. She used this break to knit woolen sweaters  and weave traditional cotton shawls and sold them for a little extra money. 

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Meanwhile, her sons were growing fast. The eldest two were in school now. The  youngest one was ready and all eager to follow his brothers. Once he joined them, what  would she do at home alone, Kienuo wondered at times. But then, she could use all the extra  time to make a better living, to raise the living standard for her sons. They were the world to  her. 

She dreamed of the day they would graduate; the day they would land good jobs; the  day they would get married and settle down. She would be a single parent all along, cheering  them on all alone. As far as she was concerned, she'd scream her throat hoarse for the sake of  her boys if she had to. But as fate would have it, she would not cheer her boys all alone. Not  for long, anyway. Out of the bluest blue, Kienuo found love again. The sun had left the  clouds behind now. It was almost as if Heaven itself had arranged this unexpected encounter  that had led to serious courtship; as if heaven had tested her and found her worthy. She knew  the boys would soon stop asking about 'daddy.' She smiled to herself at the thought. That  would be the biggest gift she could give them, since the day she had given them birth. Kienuo  waited for the day she would break the news to her three sons. 

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By Kezhakielie Whiso