Honouring the Men Who Hold Mothers Up: A Daughter’s Reflection
At the center of Mama Narratives is a focus on motherhood and women. This is because of the intensity and impact of motherhood on a woman’s life. Mama Narratives also intentionally stays away from speaking about marriage, because not all mothers are married. Some are separated, divorced, widowed, or single by circumstance or choice. Not all married mothers are happy in those marriages. The trauma that many mothers, who do not “tick the marriage box,” experience is often invisible and silent in many African Christian contexts.
Some mothers remain in marriages for convenience, societal image, financial reasons, religious expectations, or the well-being of their children. Whether staying is “worth it or not” is a deeply personal decision. Some women do not have support from the fathers of the children they carry, which can make motherhood extremely difficult. Others are fortunate to have a supportive husband, something that is truly a blessing.
In the interviews I have conducted so far at Mama Narratives, I have encountered both sides. Each story is held sacred because it is personal and embodied.
Although Mama Narratives centers on women, today I want to reflect on my father and how he has influenced my motherhood journey, in honor of the men who support mothers. These could be husbands, fathers, stepfathers, boyfriends, grandfathers, brothers, uncles, or any male figure whose support strengthens a woman. Fatherhood also shapes men in unique ways, and I acknowledge that. A friend of mine, Oyunga Pala, writes beautifully on fatherhood; you can check out his blog.
My Father, Abel
My father, Abel, is a man I love deeply, and I have very fond childhood memories with him. I remember how I would run to the gate, and he would lift me and tickle me. He is also very humorous and a storyteller. He would also take me to school by bike; he tells me I really enjoyed it, something I now do with my daughters. He really got me many times. I was also raised by a dad who apologizes and owns up when you say you feel hurt.
He was one of the “first cameramen” in our town in the early 90s. We would ride on his bike to take photos at people’s special occasions, and would not be allowed in the bedroom when he watched the negatives with the photos after printing them in Nairobi 😀. He was very intentional about capturing milestones in our lives, including new classes, birthdays, graduations, and more.
My dad is also a skilled guitarist and singer. When I was young, he bought me a very unique songbook, which I have never seen like one to date, and we would sing together after my siblings had gone to sleep. Many English songs that I first learnt from my dad, not Sunday school. One of the things I treasure most when I visit home today is when he takes out his guitar, and we sing for an hour or more. I truly love it.
Growing up, we rarely ever went to bed without praying and reading the Word of God. He has remained intentional about this to date. For me, the family altar remains a strong presence. My dad and mom also had many Christian friends from church and our neighbourhood. I especially miss the Saturday fellowships and accompanying him to choir practice (as someone once told me), where he played the guitar. To date, we have tried to pray as a family via Zoom once a week at 6 am, although not together physically.
A Father Who Cared Deeply
As a medic, my father ensured we never experienced long queues in hospitals, something I have struggled with since I left home. He would also diagnose through his networks with fellow medics. I grew up with a very attentive, hands-on father. Anytime anyone coughed, limped, had a wound, or felt unwell, it was quickly noticed and addressed. He kept all kinds of medicines and first aid supplies.
I grew up in a high malaria-prone zone and had malaria many times. I remember how he would carry us to the hospital at night and sponge us to bring down high fevers. When I was once admitted as a child, I spent nights with me in the hospital’s staff private room while my mom cared for my younger siblings at home.
When I was in high school, my mother enrolled in school-based learning, so I spent most holidays at home with him. I learned to cook ugali from him.
My dad was always home early so we could eat together, do homework, and pray. He is the one who took us to bed and ensured the mosquito nets were properly tucked to keep malaria away.
Even today, he remains very intentional about spending quality time with us. Being home is not enough; he will create time to talk, ask questions about your life, career, marriage, wellbeing, grandchildren, and even sons-in-law.
I remember visiting home once when my parents were away the entire weekend due to church engagements. He apologised sincerely because he felt he had missed spending time with me. Another time, he was travelling from Uganda by bus. When the bus stopped in our town, he told me. I quickly drove there with my girls, and he was so happy to spend even 15 minutes with us. He took photos and gave his granddaughters a small cash gift.
Breaking Barriers for Girls
One thing I sincerely appreciate, though supported by my mom, is that my dad was the first in his family (they are only brothers) to educate girls beyond primary school. This was not an easy barrier to break, especially in a society with a strong preference for boys. He has many daughters and only one last-born son. Even today, I sometimes feel society's subtle pressure as a mother of girls, as if I should “try one more time” for a boy.
When I wanted to pursue my second master’s abroad, my father immediately offered to take the girls to live with them so I could focus. Their dad insisted he would manage with the help of a nanny and my sister, who moved in to support them—but my dad’s willingness meant a lot.
He also bought his first car intentionally so he could pick me up from the airport the first time I returned home from a cross-cultural mission in Brazil over ten years ago. He has done the same many times, driving to say goodbye when I travel or to welcome me home. I am that person who never outgrows having family at the airport, even for a short mission.
I have felt his support deeply when my daughters were born. Especially my second daughter, whose birth was a bit complex, came to visit me while I was still in intense pain from my C-section wound. It bothered him greatly, and I remember him insisting that we call my obstetrician/gynecologist for stronger pain medication, which came soon after.
Honouring Supportive Men
I could go on and on with many good memories (he is not a perfect dad neither am I and life has not always been smooth) but what I really want is to appreciate the male figures who support the women in their lives, wives, daughters, sisters, girlfriends, nieces, and granddaughters, and who have a positive impact on a woman’s wellbeing.
Motherhood is intense, and acts of love and support go a very long way.
In many ways, we mother from what we have experienced. Support shapes us. Love strengthens us. And men who show up with consistency, care, presence, and honour make motherhood a little lighter, and women a little stronger and a better generation. Motherhood is generational work; the love and support we receive flows into the children we raise and the world they will create.