I work in Dubai, but I’m still there at bedtime

I have worked in Dubai for four years, as a site supervisor for a construction company. The money is better than anything I could earn at home, and it is paying for my children’s school. But when I first left, I thought I had traded being their father for being their bank.

My children are Amani, who is nine, and Neema, who is five. In the first year, I called when I could, which was not often. The calls were short and awkward. “Are you being good? Are you listening to your mother?” Neema would hand the phone back after a minute. I could hear the television behind her.

My wife, Wanjiru, told me something that changed it. She said, “They do not want to report to you. They want to do something with you.”

So we made a plan. Every night at nine, my phone alarm goes off, wherever I am. It is eight in Nairobi, bedtime. I video call, and I read them a chapter of a book. We started with a story Amani chose from the school library, and Wanjiru bought a second copy for me. Now we are on our fifth book.

Some nights the connection is bad and my face freezes in a funny position. The children love that. Some nights I am tired from twelve hours on site and my voice is flat. They do not mind. They just want me there.

Neema falls asleep before the chapter ends most nights. Amani stays awake and asks what will happen next, and we guess together. On Saturdays he tells me about his football team and shows me his goals on the phone camera.

I come home in December for three weeks. The first night back, I read to them in person, and Neema said, “Daddy, you sound different in real life.” I will be home for good one day. Until then, I am there every night at eight.