BY FLORENCE BETT-KINYATTI I don’t know what feminism is about. At least not anymore. So much has been written about it lately that I’ve had to unlearn the little I was confident I had learned. I’m a student to feminism now, I’m at its feet waiting to learn from it
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BY FLORENCE BETT-KINYATTI You tell me that your toddler is old enough to reach the door handle and let herself into your bedroom every morning. I find that amusing. I imagine her clambering off her cot, easing herself between the little space of the snugly fitting mosquito net and the
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BY FLORENCE BETT-KINYATTI Muna has horrible morning breath. OK, I’m being dramatic. It’s not horrible, really, but it no longer has the innocence of a baby’s breath. It used to smell like grapes and pumpkin and milk when she was little, now it has the whiff of black pepper, shoe
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BY FLORENCE BETT Muna is fearless when she’s around me. I love how that reads so I’ll go ahead and write it one more time, just to ward off some of the anxiety that comes with
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BY FLORENCE BETT I’ve had two miscarriages. Today, I’ll tell you about the first one. It happened in late March 2010. I was 25; I was a year into my first job as a financial auditor and
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BY FLORENCE BETT The first time my mother-in-law started to call me every day was when I was two days past my due date. I was at home idling as
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