Who Is Abunuasi?
Abunuasi is my daughter.
Well, not biologically. But after what she pulled the other day, I was ready to induct her into the Abunuasi Hall of Fame. You see, Abunuasi is a legendary character from old Swahili stories. He’s kind of like Mr. Bean—only Black, East African, and instead of a tiny car, he rides a donkey… or sometimes carries the donkey.
He’s the king of chaos. Every solution he comes up with creates three new problems. Enter: my daughter.
Let me tell you what happened……..
Of Ushamba, Yues, and the Use of Quarters
We’re moving houses. The new place? A total blessing. But there’s a plot twist: no in-house washer or dryer.
Instead, there’s a communal laundry room—three blocks down. Now, keep in mind, when we first landed in the U.S., we landed the soft life. Our house had an in-unit washer and dryer. We were living the VIP laundry life. Hii maisha hatujajua bado. This shared laundry business? We’d never experienced it.
So when we finally got this new place—with the help of some amazing people—I panicked. Listen, when you’re a mom of eight, laundry isn’t just a chore. It’s a full-time business. The idea of hauling baskets of clothes across a compound like an Abunuasis donkey on duty? Haiwezekani.
Still, I decided we’d ease into it. Do a soft launch. Just dip our toes in the dirty water, so to speak.
So, Nadia and Keisha and I packed all our dirty laundry—literally five overflowing loads—and made our way to the new house. We hadn’t moved in yet. This was just… a test. And of course, that’s when the drama began.
I thought—naively—maybe the machines come with soap? Like hotel towels? Don’t laugh. I was vulnerable.
Spoiler: they don’t.
So Keisha and I dashed off to the store for detergent, and Nadia, being smart, refused to leave her clothes behind (she does have some trendy clothes, you know!) So we left her there with her phone, her Wi-Fi, and her music.
Part 2: Money Is in the Hands of the Beholder
As we’re going to pay at the store for the detergent, Wait. I might need more than $2.50 to pull this laundry thing off. That’s all the USD we had in coins!
In the U.S, you can get cash back at the store when paying. By the way, true story, and I was there…My dearest husband used to think it was literal free money we were being offered. I mean—we’d gotten free stuff before… why not free cash?
Back to reality: the store cash back can only give 20-dollar notes, but the laundry machines take only $1 and $5 bills. So we drop the detergent back at the Laundry, load in the worth of the USD we have, and we leave for the ATM nearby. Nadia is now bored, and the safety of her clothes is no longer a priority. So we leave with her. But the ATM also gives twenties. I take the 20 20-dollar note as I try to figure out my miserable life hehe.. I come up with a genius plan:
Let’s buy food.
They’ll give us change. The kids can eat. Win-win. It’s going to be a long night sorting these 5 loads anyway.
From where I’m parked, I can see Sonic, Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Subway—every fast food joint known to mankind. So I tell Nadia and Keisha: “Pick ONE. Get something for UNDER $10. I need the change for laundry. I repeat: DO. NOT. OVERSPEND.”
Part 3: The Math Is Not Mathing
I park at Taco Bell and wait. Twenty minutes later, these girls are still staring at the Sonic screen like it’s an exam.
Are they stuck? Overwhelmed by the menu? Embarrassed to ask for help?
It reminded me of life: sometimes you’re surrounded by too many options, but few resources. You freeze. You overthink. You stall. And so I smiled to myself and thought, Well, this is a life lesson in budgeting. Let them struggle. Let them grow.
Two seconds later, my motherly instincts said, Enough. I drove to Sonic.
I find them mid-order. A kind attendant is helping them:
“You want this? It comes with the combo.”
“Yes, yes,” they’re nodding, hypnotized.
Then the moment of truth as the order is being delivered:
“That’ll be $29.”
FRIENDS.
People
Friends!
I gave them $20.
THE WHOLE POINT was to get change.
Now I owed extra. I ask, “How did you calculate this?”
Blank stares.
“But he said the fries were free!”
“And the nuggets come with it!”
(To be honest, he probably did. I think I also heard it. Or maybe I imagined it. At this point, I don’t even know.)
They offer to return a few items. The receipt drops to $19.
I do some fast math. If I pay with cash, I lose my precious $20. So I pull out my card instead. Smart mom move. WE now have food for my babies AND my $20 cash intact.
It’s been two hours.
No detergent. No change. No soap. Just stress.
Part 4: Sorries, Sandwiches, and Sweet, Sweet Victory
By now Nadia is nearly in tears. “I’m so sorry, Mom.” She keeps repeating
Suddenly, the Sonic lady reappears.
“We’ve reversed the extra charges—but you can still keep all the food.”
What?!
So now we had all the food… for less money?
I nearly wept. he he
I was starving. And the food smelled like a reward from heaven.
In the package is also a sandwich for Mama!
I had packed my chapatis and tea like the good Kenyan I am, but bless their hearts—they were trying to make Mama feel included with their very expensive order.
To the kind soul at Sonic: if you ever read this, may you live long and prosper. 🧡
Final Lesson: The Orange Saga
As Nadia kept apologising, I remembered a story from my own childhood.
My mom once gave me 20 Kenyan shillings and told me:
“Buy oranges for 3 bob. Bring me back 17.”
That 20 shillings then was sacred—probably her entire 10% of her Salary.
But I misunderstood.
I came back with oranges worth 17 shillings… and 3 shillings change. I dragged in mountains of oranges. Market women had to help me carry them. I was about 11, we were at a school sports event at Kiirua Primary, and my little stomach had taken over my brain.
My mother looked at those oranges like, Should I open a shop? Or open the ground and bury this child?
If she didn’t kill me that day, nothing ever will.
So I turned to Nadia, laughed, and said:
“Don’t worry. I can’t throw stones. I once made an even bigger mess than you. And look—I survived.”
We laughed until our ribs hurt, imagining Grandma’s face—eyes wide, holding a mountain of oranges while the happy mama mboga skipped home with an empty crate.
And the best part?
The kind lady at Sonic gave me change.
We finally did the laundry.
And that, my friends, is how life gives you both dirty socks and divine sandwiches…
…and how your daughter ends up walking in your exact Abunuasi footsteps—with a twist of fries.
💡 Moral of the Story:
Be kind to your kids.
Don’t judge their chaos too quickly—especially if you’ve been the queen of Abunuasi moves yourself. Use the messes as teaching moments, not trial chambers.
Life is full of lessons. And sometimes, the best ones come with a side of Sonic.
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