I am currently in Kakamega. A good friend of my friend had lost his dad. We all tried to be there for him, holding space in the quiet ways people do when grief is too heavy for words. I prayed he’d find the strength to carry through.
I’m writing this through ugly sobs, standing outside a gate that reads “Kakamega County Funeral Parlor.” It’s 2:38 a.m. We’re not here for my friend’s friend this time we’re here for my friend.
Some time ago, he took in a young boy, giving him a home, helping with his basic needs, and paying for his high school education. Yesterday, after attending the burial for his friend’s father, we learned the boy’s own father was in the hospital. My friend had been quietly carrying both burdens supporting his grieving friend while worrying about the boy he’d taken in.
We sent the boy some cash for his evening meal and later went to see other friends. When we returned, he seemed okay. I was just about to rush in, grab my allergy meds, and head out again when my friend called from across the house. Everyone was restless even the dog.
When I stepped out, he said:
“Denno’s dad just died.”
I watched the weight settle on him. He said, almost to himself, “Now it’s becoming normal.” I couldn’t process it either. The only word that came out of me was “fuck”. I said it again. And again. Until my voice broke.
We rushed to the hospital. It was the first time I saw a body being wheeled to the morgue. The thought that echoed in my head was painfully simple;
Life is so fragile.
Plans changed so fast, some of us sobered very fast.
We prayed with the family outside the morgue. Then we left. Into the cold night.
I cried so much that I woke up today with a headache.
It’s Saturday now, 1:48 p.m. We went to check on the boy’s family. His sister welcomed us with a quiet grace:
“Karibu muone mahali baba yetu alikuwa anaishi.”
We stepped inside. Sat in silence. Watched them tidy up, getting the home ready for what lay ahead.
I am calmer now, mostly marveling at the beauty and brevity of life. Every day, I see more clearly how essential it is to stay present and appreciate each breath.
Life is sacred.
Life is fragile.
Life is beautiful.
Before I slept, I told my friend, “You’re a good person.”
He asked, “How?”
I just repeated it and left it at that.
He really is a good person. I could have gone into details anyone who knows me knows I can talk. But I also know Cycus. He has his own way with emotions. He’s not the type to go deep into feelings, but he has a very big heart. A genius also, at his age, it’s impressive the things he’s accomplishing.
This morning, while driving back from the boy’s place, he said,
“Hi maisha, ishi tu venye inacome.”
He didn’t say anything more. I didn’t probe. I didn’t process. I just left it at that too.
My friend will be moving to Berlin in October and he says, “Na sitarudi” I’m still processing the “na sitarudi” bit.
In the mean time, enjoy your weekend guys. We only get to do this life thing once.
Cheers.
Shadow to my light. 