At the age of 14, we were required to go to school and come back home by ourselves. We lived 40 minutes away by matatu from our school, yet we were accustomed to that routine more than 200 days of the year.
My childhood is a furry memory of me running barefoot in my village or in my grandmother’s hometown. My grandmother lived in the centre of Old Town Mombasa, my aunt lived on one side of the town, and my other aunt on the furthest end. Yet before we had turned 10 years old, my sister and I were accustomed to running in between all homes on errands. We knew which house sold the best ice lollies, which one the best mabuyus and where to go to buy the best 4pm snacks.
During the last 10 days of Ramadan, when the town came alive with lights and people shopping in the night, we were allowed to be out (in groups) until 10 pm. On Eid days, we would make groups with neighbourhood kids to go to the fanfare. Looking back now, it seems like a hundred years ago.
Not only has the town changed so much that even we as adults do not feel safe in the same environment, the people have also changed significantly. Back then, your neighbours were your foster parents. If you were seen by anyone in the neighbourhood doing something wrong, you are sure that your parents would be informed. Not only that but people were always willing to help. There were more good people than bad.
I’m sure we imagined giving our kids a similar childhood to the one we had. But seeing how far humanity has fallen, I cannot help but want to shield my children from the world. My sister does not allow her children to board matatus by themselves. Even though they were born and raised in Mombasa, they barely know a quarter of the town. Not like we did.
My mother was asking me if I was going to take my child to a madrasa. I am not. I spent about 12 years of my life going to madrasa. It was great, but I will not do it with my own children. My son is three and I have already started teaching him religious texts myself. Should I ever need a teacher to help him learn more, I will probably enlist the help of an online teacher.
I won’t apologise for my fears, which have been caused by the harsh realities I have witnessed in our messed-up world. I won’t apologise for wanting to shield my children from the ugliness of the world for as long as I can. Even if it means they get to live a snowglobe childhood, where they only live in a bubble of safety, surrounded by beautiful things.
