Warùrīithia

Three decades later and I still recall her ready-to-kill face, that purple-maroonish headscarf—basically the headmistress from Matilda, live version. 🤭

Njeri once told me that once a child turns seven, childhood amnesia is no longer a thing. It fades.

So this morning, I asked Hailey to finish up making her chocolate while I worked on her pancakes. The only thing left was adding sugar and cocoa. Easy, right?

Well. The mess I found afterward? 🙆🏽‍♀️

“Surely, Hails—this is the most basic of things! Can’t you do anything without turning the kitchen into a disaster zone? Come on! At your age, I could manage meals solo—with mum away even! You’ve got to style up!”

But honestly, I need to give her more grace. Comparing her current efforts to my ancient childhood responsibilities? That’ll only stress me and crush her. So yeah—deep breaths.

Let’s rewind a little.

Convent boarding school. Somewhere in Thika. I joined when I was barely nine.

Enter Warùrīithia. An older lady from the area, assigned to assist Class Three girls with basic laundry—a.k.a. the OG “auntie.”

PR skills? 10/10. Visiting days? She’d roam around all smiles, telling parents how well she was “taking care” of their kids.

Let’s unpack that “care,” shall we?

Constant pinches. Random slaps meant for your cheek but landed squarely on your neck. 😏

She’d angrily shove freshly cleaned clothes back into basins of water, barking at us to rewash them—while pinching and scolding. Guilt was always the default setting. You were guilty until proven cleaner.

Oh how we celebrated the days she was absent.

And Mum? Honestly, those constant 200 bobs you parted with on visiting days? Could’ve been put to better use. 😏

I genuinely wonder what became of her. 🤔

Winnie—please skip this read as you contemplate boarding school for your girls. 😅

I hear things have changed since.

Oh—and did I ever tell you about Wamūjuga?

Let’s pause there. Grab a cup of ☕️ first.