My name is Grace.
For many years, I carried a pain that only a mother can understand.
I always dreamed of having a big family.
I imagined watching my children grow, go to school, build their own lives, and one day bring their children home to visit me.
When I became pregnant for the first time, my heart was filled with happiness.
My husband and I prepared everything.
We bought small clothes.
We prepared a place for the baby.
We prayed for a safe delivery.
When my child was born, I felt like the happiest woman in the world.
But our joy was short-lived.
After some time, tragedy struck, and we lost our baby.
The pain was unbearable.
People tried to comfort me, but nobody could understand the emptiness I felt.
I told myself that maybe it was just a difficult season.
Later, I became pregnant again.
Hope returned.
My family celebrated.
I believed that this time everything would be different.
But once again, we faced a painful loss.
After several experiences like this, fear entered my heart.
Every pregnancy came with happiness, but also worry.
Instead of only preparing for a baby, I found myself constantly asking:
“Will everything be okay this time?”
My husband tried to encourage me.
My relatives prayed with me.
I sought medical advice and followed the guidance I received, but the emotional pain remained.
I felt like I needed support and answers to help me understand the difficult journey my family had experienced.
An elder in my community encouraged me to seek traditional guidance from Dr. Magongo in Kisumu, known for cultural consultations and spiritual cleansing practices.
I visited and shared my story.
I spoke about the children I had lost, the fear I carried, and the sadness that had followed my family for years.
Dr. Magongo listened carefully.
He encouraged me to continue seeking proper healthcare support and also explained that, according to traditional beliefs, some families use cleansing ceremonies as symbolic ways of releasing fear, finding peace, and starting a new chapter.
A symbolic ceremony was prepared using traditional items.
A calabash filled with clean water represented renewal and hope for a new beginning.
A white cloth represented peace, comfort, and healing from past pain.
A woven basket containing seeds represented life, growth, and the hope of future generations.
A bundle of traditional leaves represented restoration and connection with cultural practices.
A small candle represented light during a season that had felt full of darkness.
During the ceremony, I was encouraged to release the guilt I carried and to focus on caring for myself emotionally and physically.
I returned home with a different mindset.
I stopped blaming myself.
I continued following medical advice and taking care of my health.
Months later, I became pregnant again.
This time, I approached the journey with both hope and caution.
When my baby was born healthy, tears filled my eyes.
I held my child and remembered all the pain I had experienced.
That moment felt like a new beginning.
Over time, my family grew, and laughter returned to our home.
Looking back, I believe the traditional ceremony became a meaningful moment because it gave me emotional strength during one of the hardest seasons of my life.
It reminded me that after pain, a person can still find hope.
My story is not only about loss.
It is about a mother’s courage to continue believing, seeking support, and moving forward.
Today, whenever I look at my children, I appreciate every moment.
Because every child is a gift, and every day together is precious.
