A woman finds support in a husband she’s never met.
Destiny was living with her mother, uncle, and three younger brothers in South Sudan, helping her mother run a small grocery business. One day her mother and uncle came to tell her that there was a man in the USA who wanted to marry me. He had already sent money, a “booking fee” for a wife, like a down payment on a cow or a car. The very next day, his relatives came for a big party.
Just like that, without a word from me, I was told I was someone’s wife. Even now, eight years later, we still have not met. I know his name is John. I know he lives in the USA. I know he was one of the Lost Boys, of the first South Sudanese to arrive in Kakuma way back in 1992. I have his photo, and we chat every day on Whatsapp, except for the times I don’t have enough airtime. But there’s still so much I don’t know. He tells me he has to go to work early, but I don’t even know what he does.
Still, he keeps sending money. In 2014, a couple of years after mom died, he told me to go to Kakuma with my brothers, so I went. He said it would be better for the boys to go to school there, and that from there, we could see about being resettled, going to stay with him. I had $180 saved up in cash, and John sent another $400. My friend had a referendum card (an identity document needed to receive remittances), so she could collect the money for us. We boarded a shared car and were dropped at a Red Cross post in Nadapal. John told us to tell them we were fleeing from insecurity, so that’s what we said. From there, we boarded a lorry around 6:00 am and arrived in the camp around 7:00 pm.
So many things about the camp took me by surprise. First, was the sun. The sun feels twice as hot in Kakuma as in South Sudan. Second, I was shocked to see other brown people, people like Somalis, Burundians, and Congolese. They don’t look like us. I know it sounds silly now, but before we arrived at the reception center, I thought South Sudanese were the only people in the world.
After a week at the reception center, we were given a ration card and manifest (identity document). We were taken to a tent in Kakuma 3, which was supposed to be our home. They helped us with some water cans, mats, and cooking pans. That is how we started our life. After just a few weeks, someone cut through our tent at night and stole our cooking pans. I was so scared and didn’t even know where to complain or look for help. I called John. He suggested we move to Kakuma 1, the more developed side of the camp, and he sent us $200 to find a house. I rented a house from an Ethiopian man for $25 per month. We even were able to arrange electricity for $10 per month from a Somali businessman with a generator.
Once we settled in, I started taking English classes for $3 per month, and the boys all enrolled in primary school, which was free. I would try to save as much as I could from whatever money John sent. I’d keep the notes hidden under my mattress. (So far, I’ve never had M-PESA or a bank account.) By January 2016, I saved $170 and started a business selling githeri, a traditional corn and bean stew, and tea in the market, which is a very popular place for both refugees and Turkanas. The business grew quickly. I now even have two other South Sudanese women who work with me, and I pay them $2 per day. After all of the expenses, I go home every night with $6 in profit. Plus, we mostly eat from the restaurant, so we spend very little on extra food.
My husband says he is working to get us all resettled in the USA, where we can stay with him. I don’t know how long that will take. Can you imagine, in eight years of marriage, I have never even met this man, but for some reason, he has faith all will be well. He continues to help me and my brothers. He says that soon, maybe early next year, he will come to meet me in Nairobi. It hardly even feels real.