Two Year On

This October two years ago I got one of the most dreaded calls in my life. it was late at night and the call was from my younger brother. My father fell unwell and was taken to hospital where the doctors declared that he was dead on arrival. Now for all the years in which I had buried relatives it had not occurred to me that I could lose my father mind you, he was not a young man. my father was 85 years old but he was adorable. it stuck like a bolt of lightning just to imagine that he was lying somewhere in a cold room. I asked my brother whether a doctor had confirmed his demise or he had just taken him to the mortuary (as if you can just declare someone dead and drop him to the mortuary).

Let me tell you about my father. He was my first love. As we were growing up my mother wielded the big stick. She was the discipline master. Our father was our protector and benefactor.  He would always come at the most needed minute and find our mother just about to beat the daylight out of us. I am serious on that bit hehehee… He would order an immediate stop and ask my mother to desist from any further hostility. Peace would be restored until my father walked out of the homestead to attend errands. My mother would whisper under her breath,” Ngoja baba yenu aende.” – meaning wait for your father to leave.

While expecting a beating from my mother, our work was to wake up very early and leave the house before my father left. This would buy us time to prepare to be beaten. My mother had this habit of locking our bedroom from outside so as to give us a beating as soon as my father was out of earshot.
So that 4th October 2017, when I was told he had passed on, I felt like my whole world had crumbled. Never had I felt so touched by death, in fact, two years down the line I am still in mourning.