A father's love

She was from Kenya, her home near Nairobi. In Moshi, Tanzania, she had found a job, using her training as a beautician. Kenya is economically more advanced than Tanzania, and far fewer girls would have had the training she had enjoyed.
 
Her braided hair extensions hung down to her shoulders, like a fountain, and her smile was wide and generous. Her hips were big - too big, as is often the case with African women. But her dark skin was flawless and her lips full and soft, her brown eyes bright with hope.

She spoke in fluent English of her family. She was the youngest of six. Her father had died 10 years ago. A married sister had died in mysterious circumstances that an autopsy had not explained. She suspected her brother-in-law had been the cause and she spoke of witchcraft and also of the pain of his sister poisoning the minds of the suviving children. They had been told that her sister's family had caused her death. Her brother was an alcoholic, a schemer and liar, plausible in all his promises to change, in all his requests for money to make a fresh start. Always, every gift was converted to cash, every shilling used to satisfy his craving.

Her mother, a retired teacher, had born much, trusting that somehow God had a purpose in all that had overwhelmed her, sending daily texts to her daughter in Moshi, ever hopeful that she would make a success of her life.

She once told me that she wondered if it was better to remain single. She could live cheaply in Tanzania and save a good proportion of her wage. She had talked of starting her own business one day, of owning a small house, of keeping a few cows and growing some maize.

She was 26 years old. She said she worked long hours but so long as she earnt 40000 shillings per month to pay her share of the salon's rent, the rest was her own. She had built up her clients and was making a reasonable living. She was content to be in Moshi but it was not like home. 

I had kept in touch with her since I met her two years ago and tried to show her some love. She was thankful to tell me all that was on her mind and to seek advice. I could only listen and hold her hand, suggesting possibilities. Her heart was brave and her dreams uncrushed. She was making a success of things - and yet I knew she would like to have the companionship of a partner.

Before we parted again we hugged and she held me tight. While I was still in Tanzania over the next two weeks she sent me texts... concerned if I was alright, liking the sense of connection. She wanted a father's love. It was all I could give.