My name is Mama Asha.
For most of my life, I believed my greatest duty was protecting my family.
I was the mother who woke up before everyone else, worked hard, and made sure my children never slept hungry. I believed that as long as I was strong, nothing could break my family.
But life tested me in ways I never expected.
I had eight children.
Each child was a blessing to me.
I imagined watching them grow, build homes, and raise their own families.
But my happiness was mixed with deep pain.
Three of my children passed away while they were still young.
Every loss left a wound in my heart.
After losing the first child, I told myself to remain strong.
After losing the second, fear entered my home.
After losing the third, I started asking questions that kept me awake at night.
“Why is my family facing so much pain?”
“What is following us?”
“Why does happiness keep disappearing?”
People around me had different explanations.
Some told me to ignore the pain.
Others gave their own opinions.
But as a mother, I felt there was something I needed to confront.
Years earlier, during a very difficult period in my life, I had searched for protection and answers through traditional practices. I wanted to shield my family from problems, but I later began wondering whether the choices I made during that desperate time had created more emotional and spiritual burdens for my household.
I carried that fear silently.
I never told my children because I did not want to worry them.
“But mothers know when something is affecting their families”.
I noticed my children becoming afraid of the future.
Family relationships became tense.
Everyone carried unanswered questions.
One day, my youngest son held my hand and said,
“Mother, we need to find peace. We cannot continue living with fear.”
Those words touched my heart.
A relative suggested seeking cultural guidance from Dr. Magongo in Kisumu, known in the community for traditional spiritual consultations and cleansing practices.
When I met him, I shared my entire journey.
The losses.
The fear.
The choices I had made years before.
The pain I had carried alone.
He listened patiently.
He explained that, according to traditional beliefs, families sometimes seek cleansing ceremonies as a way of symbolically releasing heavy burdens, seeking forgiveness, and beginning a new chapter.
The ceremony included symbolic traditional items.
A large clay basin filled with clean water represented washing away old pain and opening a path toward renewal.
A woven sisal basket containing grains symbolized rebuilding, patience, and the hope of future generations.
A bundle of traditional leaves represented restoration and the connection between people and nature.
A white piece of cloth symbolized peace, forgiveness, and leaving behind years of sorrow.
A traditional wooden stool represented family unity, wisdom, and the importance of elders guiding the next generation.
A small gourd containing natural oils represented restoring harmony and caring for the family bond.
During the ceremony, I was encouraged to reflect on my life, forgive myself for past decisions, and focus on creating love and unity among my children.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to cry.
Not because I was weak.
Because I had carried too much for too long.
After returning home, I changed how I approached my family.
I started having open conversations with my children.
I encouraged them to support each other.
We stopped hiding our pain and started healing together.
Slowly, our home became different.
There was more laughter.
More communication.
More peace.
My remaining children became closer, and my grandchildren grew up knowing a family filled with love instead of fear.
Looking back, I understand that every family carries struggles.
Some wounds are visible.
Others are hidden in the hearts of people for years.
The cleansing ceremony became a meaningful symbol of a new beginning for me. It reminded me that healing requires honesty, forgiveness, support, and the courage to face painful memories.
Today, when I sit with my grandchildren, I no longer only remember the children I lost.
I also celebrate the family I still have.
I celebrate hope.
I celebrate love.
And I believe every new day is another opportunity to protect the people we cherish.
