Scars of a Survivor

By Evangeline Ndwiga

 

In Scars of a Survivor: A Tell It All Memoir of a Village Girl Who Defied All Odds, we have a narrative that is raw, honest, and compelling. Regardless of one's background or life experiences, this book offers universal lessons on resilience, personal growth, and the unrelenting pursuit for self-determination. It's a compelling read that will provoke thought, empathy, and admiration. Evangeline delves deep into the intricacies of her adversity ridden early life, the indignities arising from material lack in her family and their far-reaching impacts in her life and that of her siblings. She does not shy away from detailing the toll her upbringing took on her mental health. You could call this selfhood many things. Spiritedness. Transformation. Metamorphosis. Survival. Healing. Self-Discovery Or just a determined bid to triumph. She tells of her trials and tribulations without self-pity, especially in her depictions of physical and emotional abuse. She tells it all with a raw intensity that leaves a lasting impression. The book is a tribute to the power of education, resilience and unflinching endeavor to be the best version of oneself. It's a powerful motivation for anyone seeking to overcome obstacles and follow their dreams. Its prose is poignant and evocative, effortlessly drawing readers into her world. Hers is a story that cannot be caged. It is a story that must be told. It is a story that must be heard.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evangeline Ndwiga
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227545091

Book preview

DEDICATION

To my husband,

and

my children

for

the great love and laughter

and

being wonderful companions on life’s way

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To my mother, Flora, I owe the greatest debt for inspiring who I am, first in the living of it, then in the writing of it. From you, I have learned about fortitude and a never-say-die attitude.

To Irene Kendi, who encouraged me to write this memoir and never stopped to check on the progress. She inspired confidence in the relatability of my story to many people whose lives are, or have been, marred by adversities of various nature.

I am grateful to Ms. Bernedette Loloju, who has been such a special friend and supporter. She had given me several opportunities to tell this story with great sensitivity and pride.

I am especially grateful to my family, with whom I share this story. You are a true reflection that a determined spirit can wear out any challenge.

Many thanks to my friend Faith, who has been a pillar of support since our campus days. You believed in me and granted me a haven, emotional as well as practical, and made me stand on my feet.

FOREWORD

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In Scars of a Survivor: A Tell It All Memoir of a Village Girl Who Defied All Odds, we have a narrative that is raw, honest, and compelling.  Regardless of one’s background or life experiences, this book offers universal lessons on resilience, personal growth, and the unrelenting pursuit for self-determination. It’s a compelling read that will provoke thought, empathy, and admiration.

Evangeline delves deep into the intricacies of her adversity ridden early life, the indignities arising from material lack in her family and their far-reaching impacts in her life and that of her siblings. She does not shy away from detailing the toll her upbringing took on her mental health.

You could call this selfhood many things. Spiritedness. Transformation. Metamorphosis. Survival. Healing. Self-Discovery Or just a determined bid to triumph. She tells of her trials and tribulations without self-pity, especially in her depictions of physical and emotional abuse. She tells it all with a raw intensity that leaves a lasting impression.

The book is a tribute to the power of education, resilience and unflinching endeavor to be the best version of oneself. It’s a powerful motivation for anyone seeking to overcome obstacles and follow their dreams. Its prose is poignant and evocative, effortlessly drawing readers into her world.

Hers is a story that cannot be caged. It is a story that must be told. It is a story that must be heard.

Faith Shihachi

Serial Entrepreneur, CRM Expert

Nairobi, Kenya

PROLOGUE

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I almost titled this book Burdens that Sing, because the phrase so beautifully describes what God can do in our suffering. But that could make me sound eloquent and poetic when I am neither. So, making my burdens to sing is not pretty. Not only because I cannot carry a tune, but because the song I could sing in my burdens does not sound winsome. It could often be a desperate cry for help, not a stirring hallelujah chorus. But in the end, God has taken my burdens and turned them into something beautiful. He has indeed made my burdens to sing.

I am well acquainted with suffering. Many of you reading this book are as well, and suffering has carved hollows into your soul. Some of you may even feel abandoned by God, as trials have threatened to overwhelm you. I honestly have felt that way too, both as an unbeliever and as a committed Christian. I have been tempted to turn away from him in my pain, wondering why a good God would let his children suffer. Yet the Lord has proven abundantly faithful, as he has filled those hollow places with an overflowing joy.

I seek to tell my personal story not to rediscover what I already know, but to examine reminiscent occurrences under a new light of heightened consciousness, and in doing so rewrite my history and pen an enlightened future. Perhaps with resolute effort, I can recast a benighted nightmare into a bounteous prospect for joyful and a meaningful existence. I must undertake an arduous cognitive journey to discover what elusive substance provides purposefulness to living.

The hardest thing for me to write about was my greatest shame. For years I was paralyzed with fear that I would fail and slip back into harsher hardships. In my book, I openly share deeply painful, personal experiences I never intended to disclose. Perfectionists always want to portray an image of themselves they think will be accepted by others, but by being transparent and showing the beautiful and ugly scars of me, is what I believe, makes ‘Where Have I Been All My Life?’ relatable. It is rare for many people to share their greatest shames and mistakes so publicly, in a way that can allow readers to connect deeply with the story. I am vulnerable on purpose because it gives permission to others to own their truth and uncover their unique voice with confidence.

It felt important to provide hope for the future as well as a way forward for those experiencing trauma or anxiety as a result of life’s experiences and conditioning. I also felt strongly about being a role model for a not-so-conventional life. I want to show young women an alternate path, so they do not feel unworthy, unwanted and incapable of a worthwhile life. I would love my book to be a source of comfort to empower my readers to live an authentic and purposeful life.

I would be beyond ecstatic if my readers took away the realization they are not alone. I hope to highlight our humanness and how we all make mistakes, we all experience suffering and we all face obstacles. I wasted a lot of energy trying to make it appear as though I had it ‘all together,’ but I’ve learnt this energy is better served helping others rather than being competitive. My story is an ordinary one, not an extraordinary one. A universal story of self-love and connectedness with the intention of helping us all feel less alone.

Evangeline Mukami

Nairobi, Kenya

CHAPTER ONE

LIFE VEERS OFF THE COURSE

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Adversity introduces a man to himself

- Arn Anderson

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H

eavily expectant in 1981, my mother was very hopeful that her second pregnancy would give her a boy. This could distinguish her as a real woman and accord her such dignity that every woman in marriage was desirous of. Until recently, though still disputable, it was only a mother to boy(s) who could afford to say, ‘I am a woman with children’. Further, a woman’s marital security was only assured if she gave birth to a baby boy. My mother did not mind about the labour pains that often turn mothers into discordant vocalists because it was her assured way to reasonable worthiness, at least by cultural standards of that time. Unfortunately, things did not turn out as per the mental architecture of her hopes and aspirations.

First, the labor pains prolonged, and she bled for so long in the process of delivering without any meaningful attention from the midwives that she fell into a comma. This necessitated emergency medical efforts to save her life. Secondly, the alarmed doctors pronounced that her case had become extremely delicate life or death situation. It was either the baby dies so that the mother lives, or the mother dies so that the baby can live.  Everything had veered off course.

For several hours, all possible medical efforts were made to save the mother’s life first, and if possible, the baby’s as well. By the sheer grace of God, both were saved. The mother stabilized in what doctors described as purely miraculous. The baby, despite the long hours of labour, was in good health, and could breathe on its own. That baby was me, Evangeline Mukami.

But since a woman with children is one with boys, my mother fell pregnant a few months later, in search of a baby boy. I doubt if she had overcome the traumatic experiences during my birth by the time she conceived. I guess, her desire to have a baby boy overshadowed any other health issue, regardless of how grievous it could be. This time round, motherhood stars had aligned in her favor. She had an easy delivery. No bleeding. No comma. No theatre. No girl again. It was a boy. That marked the end of my breastfeeding. I was about a year old.  The way the events leading to my birth and after veered off the course did not start with me. They started with how my mother, a daughter of a well-to-do man, ended up in a ‘marital situation’ as a teenager. It is said that things do not go wrong, they start wrong.

Wrong Start

My mother’s first shot at life did not have the beginning that children of relatively well-off men have, despite being a daughter of a man of means. Her father, Richard Mugera, had a great deal to his name, at least during his time. He had large plantations of coffee and tea bushes, a large farm and various businesses in Embu town. He dressed sharply and was well spoken. People greeted him with respect, because he commanded it by way of his patronly posture and how he responsibly managed the affairs of his people, his family included. Essentially, he was, and did, what great men of his time did.

It could be concluded, therefore, that my mother’s life was projected to be like that of daughters of well of men. In essence, a good education if she was willing to go to school; an undeservedly senior position at government body at a tender age; a figurehead in the patriarch’s business after studies in India or Uganda; a white wedding with a scion of an equally well-to-do family and (or) any other good thing that a loving and rich father can offer.

Unfortunately, Flora, for that