Life has not been easy for me. I had my first child when I was still a teenager. Things became so difficult that I had to drop out of school to take care of my baby. I raised my son alone with no help or child support from his father. To survive, I took whatever work I could find. I worked as a maid, a security guard, and later as a cleaner in a lodge.

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Even though it was tough, I did everything I could to provide for my son. When he turned four years old, a man came into my life. He was kind and generous. I especially liked that he didn’t just treat me right, he was very good to my son as well.

As time passed, he withdrew my boy from a government school and enrolled him in a private one. He was our support when it comes to money. Emotionally, he grounded us. For the first time in a long while, I got a taste of the family life I always wanted for my child. I felt so lucky experiencing it.

After some time, he went to see my parents officially, and soon we moved in together. But because we were still not married, I didn’t allow my son to come and live with us. I thought it was for the best because I didn’t want to expose him to a lifestyle that could easily end. Looking back now, I don’t regret making decision.

Not long after moving in together, I got pregnant. He was very happy when I broke the news to him. That made me happy too. “So this is how it feels to have a baby for a man who wants to have your child,” I would think and smile. It was a beautiful experience that lasted shorter than my first trimester.

Things changed when I was about two months pregnant. He suddenly became distant and stingy. He knew I was dependent on him but he stopped giving me money for food. Sometimes, I would only eat once a day. Other times, I went to bed without eating at all.

I didn’t tell my parents what was going on. Mostly, I pretended everything was fine whenever they called because I didn’t want to worry them.

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When I was six months pregnant, the doctor told me that my baby was very small for her age. That’s when I realized I had to do something to survive. I started working at a bar just to save a little money for my baby. Surprisingly, one of the customers there took pity on me and helped me with some money to buy about half of the baby’s items. I suffered a lot, but I was determined to prepare for my child.

Even when I was eight months pregnant, I was still working as a washing lady in people’s homes because the man I was living with didn’t bother to help me. He never bought anything for the baby, and he didn’t care that I was heavily pregnant and struggling. By God’s grace, I managed to buy everything I needed before I gave birth.

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After I delivered, his sister came to visit. She told me that I should name the baby after her brother. She wanted me to call my son “Junior.” I refused. I told her that neither she nor her brother had helped me during my pregnancy. “I didn’t get pregnant alone but I went through everything alone. How can I name my child after his deadbeat father?”

Now she calls me a bad person for refusing to name my baby after him. In my heart, I don’t think I did anything wrong. My baby is now five months old, and to this day, none of them has sent a single coin for his upkeep. No child support, nothing. I want to know if I did anything wrong by standing my ground.

—Cusy

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