I still shiver whenever I remember those days in Mombasa,Kizingo. I was just a poor girl from the village, working as a housemaid in a wealthy family’s home. Every morning, before the sun rose, I would be up scrubbing floors, washing clothes, and cooking meals. By the time the day ended, my body ached, but instead of appreciation, insults were my daily bread.
My boss used to say, “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be starving in the village. You’re nothing.” Her children wore imported shoes while I couldn’t even buy myself a second-hand pair from the market. My salary was peanuts, just enough to send a little home and survive, but never enough to dream.To read more,click here
