The Meat Pie, the Library, and the Lessons of Parenting in America From a Kenyan
My youngest turns ten in October. My oldest is fourteen. And I can feel the clock ticking. They are not babies anymore. In a few years, one will be off to college, and I keep thinking: Did I do enough? Was I present enough? Right now, the biggest thing on my mind is making sure these years do not slip away. I want to do my part in raising two wonderful young men.
My name is Catherine. I have lived in America for almost thirty years now. I came in 1996, and I have seen this country change. The politics have shifted. The cost of living has gone up. My grocery bill alone is thirty percent higher than it used to be. You know, the tariffs, these policies are making families feel the pinch. Right now I am in a season of waiting, watching, and praying. Because what happens here does not just affect America, it affects the world.
But when I think of home, I think of Nyeri-Skuta, a quiet little suburb. My best memories are weekends with my dad. He traveled for work during the week, but on Saturdays, I was his shadow. We would run errands together, and eventually end up at the White Rhino Hotel. They served the best meat pie I ever had. I would sit quietly, eating, while he talked to his friends. I was just a little girl, watching my father with pride, thinking the world was safe as long as he was beside me.
My first job was as a custodian in a university library. It taught me work ethic-showing up early, doing things well. But parenting has taught me even more. Growing up, I was teased for being skinny. Years later, when my son was small, I caught myself overfeeding him, trying to fatten him up. It hit me: I was healing my own wound through him. I had to stop. He is just naturally slender, and I had to make peace with that. Parenting forces you to confront your childhood. If you do not, you pass the baggage on.
If I could speak to my younger self, I would say: Life will fall in place. Expect good things, because life responds to your expectations. Back then I was shy, insecure, full of impostor syndrome. I did not believe I had what it took. Think of it this way, you were born with all the ingredients for greatness. You have to believe it.
These days, my values are simple. Be a present parent. Take care of myself. I have learned that self-care is not selfish-it is survival. And above all, be intentional.
I have dropped many of the rocks I used to carry. I have done the work. I no longer carry the weight of controlling the future. Life is unfolding. My job is to show up, to do my part, and to trust that the rest will fall in place.
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