As I peered out from our bedroom window, I saw the machete. My mother was cowering like a startled gazelle and fear emanated from every fibre of her being. My father's face was twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred. His chest rose rapidly as he wielded the offending weapon inches from my mother's back. My heart raced, I was immobilised to do anything but watch helplessly.
Not far away, my stepmother, the third wife, stood with a satisfactory look smeared across her face. My father was polygamous - three wives and not enough attention to go around. My mother was abandoned with seven children. My education was unimpressive. If that wasn't enough, I fell in love with a foreigner. My nightmare had intensified.
In a country plagued with unemployment, corruption, no network support for single mothers and stigma towards dual-heritage children, I was not going to be stuck firmly at the very base of the totem pole.
Journey with me now on my path to a better life.