Now is the Moment

NOW IS THE MOMENT

Years back my maternal grannie resembled a lofty lean damsel ready to conquer the world but not anymore; age has since engulfed her making her seem small and laid-back.

She now sits close to the wide kitchen-window on her brown wooden armchair with a floral cushion stack on it. And while perched there, she leans forward and dimly notices the passers-by and makes remarks about them with a stray thought about the cup of tea at the base of the chair close to her feet.

Over the years, I have continually looked forward to watching her preoccupied face with the morning light gracefully reflecting on her tanned and wrinkled skin and eyes that belie her eighty years; plus the laughter lines on the forehead that coil effortlessly when no one is watching. She’s simply a dazzling woman!

For the last 15 years, grandma has constantly sat there, on the same old chair, watching the same old passers-by and hilariously enjoyed every moment of it like it was shanking new.

We recently held a get-together to mark her 80^th birthday and of course devour the toppings that come with it if you know what I mean_ she was astoundingly thrilled.

You should have seen her cheery face giving instructions and calling out persons to serve her every now and then. As long as you were one of the people strolling around, grandma spontaneously turned you into family and ultimately if your body-frame betrayed you, you were considered a grandchild obliged to tap into her astuteness.

She sang melodiously the old-time hymns picking up every stanza just at the right time; putting enough emphasis on the choruses you’d think time was undying.

The sun was setting-in dimly into the hills with striking rays cutting through the unruffled crowd and threads of light lingering in the sky. Everyone was full and satisfied having had their kind of fun; ready to give out their goodbye embraces.

It was a beautiful day; certainly one that I remember with a smile, gratitude and hope for better things to come.

“Grandma, if you can be any age, what age would you be?” a clear voice oozed from the kitchen; too vibrant it almost scattered the crowd. It was one of her grandsons packing scraps for breakfast the following day but still following the debates outside.

“That’s a difficult question” grandma said. Sounding not too confident about what she was about to say.

“It is indeed a difficult question only because I was in a race to get though life; many of those years are fuzzy_ but I loved being 65 years because that’s when I finally learnt to pay attention to the present”, sheepishly smiling she affirmed.

And since then, she continually nurtures a non-judgemental awareness of the present and a smile that never seems to fade away.

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I can only pray and hope for an inch of her free-spirit because I certainly need some. For we cannot rewind the past or even predict with precession the future, but we can undoubtedly take charge of our present moment.

And one by one we embraced and bid her goodbye then she returned to her spot of laughter and continued watching the same old passers-by and hilariously enjoying every moment, because every moment is new and should be enjoyed as it is!

Mwende 

Death (The Ordeal)

Death (The Ordeal)

I recall this day 10 years ago like it was just yesterday,

I still remember that tiny hospital waiting room packed to the brim with horrified faces in search of their own; all too anxious any further silence would literally kill them,

I remember staring at a portrait of a scenery beach sprawled on the four walls of the tiny room each depicting striking waves on tranquil sands contrary to the sulk within. Across from me stood a tiny black wooden coffee table holding health magazines and other tiny books neatly arranged. Underneath it a dull grey carpet that covered the whole room with showing patches of haughty stains. A slim television hung straight opposite from the tiny door displaying boring commercials with mild voices proceeding from it. Steel chairs were stack together in one corner to create space for two more persons in the already filled room, everyone gazing into the space in their own worlds of anxiety, worry and acquiescent.

I was too apprehensive to read any of the journals so I let my foot tap impatiently on the carpeted floor with teary eyes tightly locked on the door.

Just before I could create a rhythm, someone tapped my left shoulder which almost drove me mad; gladly disrupting arduous thoughts that were calling for rushed verdicts. Mother signalled from her corner of anxieties and we converged into the already squeezed space hopeful that ours wasn’t such a bad fate.

‘I mean she can’t be among the dead!’ so I thought. It appeared that any jiffy stillness opened a pot of differing opinions in my head; I was worried. Then a cold quiver ran through my belly up into my throat and I belched furiously; it’s like anger substituted the foul breath.  

“God please don’t take her away from us- I mean she’s so young to die now” I was literally negotiating with God on her behalf when dozens of rebuking queries bombarded me and I gave up only to realize that none of us was in charge!

In the heat of all the reprimands I sobbed desperately but still buoyant that my only niece then would be well and alive.

Viola had been involved in a road accident on her way to school. She left home at 9:30am of that fateful day, after a recap of counselling session plus a couple of warnings on boyfriends and forbidden pregnancies (you know how that goes) _ you’d think she was pregnant already!

We then bid her, “see you-s” because that was always our way of saying goodbye (it makes us less emotive). Two hours later such a young, sassy and intelligent girl was among many whose fate only God knew and that’s how we found ourselves in the tiny hospital waiting room.

‘Doctor!’ I mumbled when the tiny door whined and a man in a white apron squeezed himself through the crowd,

He said several students were in the ICU; and I could somehow tell that Viola was among them (just to mention that my qualms were confirmed that very day!).

I saw a ventilator tube go down her throat with its steady automated inhales and exhales, the light over her bed softly illuminating her face; she was overly covered in a heavy sky-blue cloth and nothing could stop my tears.

She later succumbed to the injuries and rested with the angels.

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10 years later, we still instinctively watch the gates and wish to see our cheerful lassie back home,

We never seem to get over her departure; truth is we will never get over it.

Because children are supposed to grow, learn and marry and of course bring grandchildren on our laps; then we can rest in peace_ at-least that’s our intuitive expectation.

Fast-forward…

The fire tragedy at Moi Girls School can’t be ignored; but even more the innocent lives lost should never be forgotten,  the wounds caused will take time to fill even before a scar can be spotted,

Their families’ hearts broken twice along the very same fault lines_ first by the way they had to die and second by why they died.

I still sit here and wonder why!

Why such young lives had to be cut short in such a manner!

I still wonder how one should to respond to such news; that your child is burnt beyond recognition in the very place they ought to be safe!

I won’t give you any answers coz I don’t have any; but I believe we can walk through this together,

We can ask questions that none of us comprehends; queries that leave us gasping for answers_ and that’s ok,

Yes we can call out their names and wait eagerly for a reply,

Only to be crashed by their silence and their absence,

Because the sting of death is cruel,

You see, life thrives in conversations; which through them we interact, learn and live,

Life in itself is a huge conversation of friendships, family, businesses and sometimes much more,

And so when death sneaks in, its pain is unexplainable (I mean even in our daily lives silence in itself is repulsive!).

When all conversations and interactions perish, hope withers and lousy muteness kicks in,

And that which was born in love now culminates in loss where no one seems to speak back,

Ultimately it is a scary and daunting realization that death is inevitable,

But we can be courageous and learn to finish such conversations that were once blossoming,

We can learn to live a day at a time in our own little ways; with the strength given to us,

We can still celebrate their lives and appreciate that they were once here,

We can treasure those memories and giggly chats we once held,

We can live appreciating the opportunity that we once talked and had a conversation,

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We can keep their names buzzing in our tiny candid chats,

Because love is honourable and it must be honoured in return,

So light a candle and ring a buzzer, you princess’ chuckles will be heard by all,

Its a 'see you', Till we meet them again in paradise.

Mwende