My name is Sharon Otieno from Kisumu Kenya living in the slums of Manyatta. I am 34 years old, and a mother of four. My husband, Emanuel Onyango, who is now 48 years of age, currently jobless. I do laundry for a living.
I got married at the age of 20. My parents were poor, so I had to get married early to spare them the burden of staying at their house. My husband and I moved to Nairobi. I got my first child at the age of 20 and my second born at the age of 21. My husband was providing for me and my family back at home. Life was good.

After 12 years of marriage, my husband decided to quit his job to vie for a political sit. That’s when it all started to change. All of a sudden, my husband started coming home late. He would be seen with lots of young women. When I asked him about it, he would get mad and tell me that it was a strategic move for his political sit. He also used all of our money on his campaign, so we could not even afford food. I had to start borrowing money from my family to get by.

When the results came out, my husband failed to get his political sit. That’s when life started becoming tough. He became depressed, and all he could do was drink and argue. The landlord kicked us out of our apartment because of our rental situation. That’s when we moved to Kisumu, since my husband was afraid of shame. Life in the slums was tough, we had to stay in a small room. During that time, I gave birth to four kids. This forced my husband to start taking illicit brews just to make him drunk. When drunk, he would come and chase us out of the house, claiming that we were the people responsible for his loss.

My husband started bringing women over, and chasing us away. Since he was a well-known person, I could not report him to the village administration – or should I say, they would do nothing about it. When he came home and found nothing to eat, he would beat me up in front of my kids.
Soon, I became depressed. What kept me moving was my kids. This is when I started doing laundry, to at least feed my family and pay my rent. To make matters worse, he would sometimes come and steal my savings to buy alcohol. It reached a point where I had to beg my neighbors for food. Sometimes, even shelter.
Now, life is different. When my kids come back for the holidays, they usually help me do the laundries for extra cash for their school fees. As to my family, they decided to ghost me: they think I was the one behind my husband’s misfortune.

What I can tell my fellow women is that we can do it. When we come together, we can stop this kind of mistreatment from our spouses and anyone involved. It’s time we say enough is enough. We should be -and are!- empowered women. We are, most often than not, the core of survival of men. No more of this.
Every day, I thank everyone who makes lives like mine be heard. Even if it’s just a voice, just one story, “a problem said is a problem half solved.” Every person that is willing to speak up, and tell the hidden stories of abused women, please know that I thank you, thank you, thank you.