I was barely out of kindergarten the first time someone told me to think like a wife. I was seven. Just seven. Complaining about the onions in my food when my aunt threw out, “What if your husband likes onions?”Husband? At seven? I was more worried about cartoons and scraped knees, not a man’s food preferences. But that was the seed—the beginning of a long, uninvited...

If you asked me what month we were in, I’d probably say March. Not because I don’t know—it’s June—but because mentally, I’m still catching up. It’s like life hit the fast-forward button, and I didn’t get the memo. I was standing on a footbridge in Ruaka, headphones in, watching the slow chaos of the city unfold below. Somehow, all that movement...