GRIEF BECAME MY FOOD

12:45pm on Friday afternoons. That was the time daddy usually called to check in on how the week has gone for me at school. When it comes to consistence in communication, this man is the guy. He never missed a Friday. That was the time we had week day prayers at school – when the moslems would go for Juma and then the Christians would go for lunch hour fellowship. Some students preferred to go to the dormitories and just wait for lunchtime. Prayers usually ended between 12:45pm and 12:55pm and then I would go to the DOS’ Office to wait for Daddy’s call: that is if Mr. Omara Samuel had not gotten to me first.

This had been one of the smoothest weeks I had been through in my senior 2. Mum had just sent me money at the beginning of the week and I had stocked grab so I was really okay. I was gradually falling in love with this back bencher whom I had to share a desk with because I reported late to school. The whole process was happening and we were liking each other and cupid’s arrow had struck us before we realized that we both were feeling butterflies for each other. The geography mid term papers had finally been brought back and I was among the best performers in class (which gave me a lot of satisfaction because many people thought sitting at the back of the class would make me decline in performance – I still fail to understand that logic).

Anyways, I saw Mr. Omara at the chemistry lab and walked down the lane to meet him half way. He got out the phone before I even reached him and by the time I was getting close, daddy’s number was already being dialed. It rang a few times and no one picked. Then I called again and this time daddy picked but he was in a really noisy area. So, the first question I asked was where he was and he responded that “they” were in the village, Now I know for a fact that the family only travels to the village once a year (during the festive season). So, travelling in plural, in the middle of the year meant that there must have been something important to attend to or the family had been summoned by its head – Big Daddy. The noise in the background then made sense because Friday is a market day in my village and it can be the real definition of noise. But the inquisitive me still pushed to find out what he had gone to buy in the market. Then he responds with a lot of urgency, “I have come to buy more nails for Big daddy’s coffin. I will call back in the evening.” and he hangs up immediately.

I went numb. It was like I had been struck by lightning. I could not move and yet I wanted to run to my bed in the dormitory and just cover myself up. My feet refused to move. My entire body just refused to collaborate with my brain. I felt the phone slide out of my palms, I saw it head to the ground but I could not grab it. Mr.Omara did. I looked at him – so helpless with an emotionless face for about 2 minutes and then tears just gushed out of my eyes. It was so cold that day (I was wearing 2 sweaters and a scarf) but I felt so hot that I was sweating. I could see Mr. Omara’s lips mumbling something but I could not hear a thing. I saw him pick up the phone and talk to someone (whom I later got to know was dad) and when he went off the call, he called two girls to escort me to the dormitory. If you ask me, till date, I do not know whether I walked or was carried to my bed. All I remember is that I woke up 30minutes to evening prep time with swollen eye lids and a pale face. I had cried myself to sleep and missed the afternoon lessons too.

I went to the borehole in the girls’ wing, washed my face, picked up a book (which subject I do not remember) and walked to class. Every one else was having supper while I was on auto pilot. I had no close friends (making friends was another struggle I was going through because I was scared of people’s intentions and behaviour having been betrayed before by a close friend). The only close person I had was a distant cousin who had no idea who Big daddy was or what he meant to me. I entered class and the room felt too big. It scared me so much because it came with an attack of, “what are you going to do now? You are alone. Your best friend is gone but you even could not say goodbye or take care of  him in his last days? What sort of grand daughter are you? You do not deserve to be his favourite (I believed and still believe I spent the most time with my grand father and ate his money the most among all his grand children). These questions the classroom was asking me, I had no response to them. So, I walked out and sat at the back of the classroom. There I stared at the horizon and day dreamed. I saw Big daddy smile in a distance and assure me that it is well. I saw him dance with his shoulders raised and his walking stick lifted in the air. I saw him smile his heart out and for every moment, tears just rolled down my cheek. Then a warm palm held me and a class mate – Aisu Ronald (who we competed with in performance but I never beat at sciences and never beat me in the arts) patted my back and slowly said, “Ubia, it is okay to grieve but will he be happy if you spend most of the time crying instead of reading and making him proud?” This coming from someone who had never been this nice to me but also, had never met Big Daddy. I felt like responding and telling him not to tell me what to do. But then I remembered that if there was something Big Daddy took pride in, it was my good performance and he had kept all my report cards from Nursery school to then (senior 2) to track my performance. Every  report card came with a gift or shopping voucher.

I, then gathered myself, walked to class, opened my book and made the decision to perform to my best as I grieve the loss of the best grand father and best friend who wanted to see me on TV, read about me in the papers and listen to me on radio sending him greetings one day. All  I could think of that evening was that he had betrayed me and now left me to dream alone. We had planned out many things:my graduation party, my first job, my fiancee’s first visit to him, my introduction, him being my biggest witness in court when signing my wedding certificate…we had it all planned out and now see!! In the midst of grieving on my own  then came resentment towards mum and dad for not taking me for the burial or at least the requiem service because “they wanted me to focus on the end of term examinations.”

I went through to the end of term on auto pilot. Functioning like a robot. The teachers let me be. I dreaded Friday afternoons and instead of going for fellowship, I became the same people I judged for staying in the dormitory and sleeping instead of going to pray.God had betrayed me. He had taken my person away from me even after I prayed every night for his long life so I had no business going into his presence when he went ahead and took him knowing how much pain it could cause me. Isn’t it His word that says that he is just and fair? Where was the justice and fairness in this? Why would He take such a good person at the snap of His finger? I was only to enter His house after this made some sense.

Grief became my food. It became my way of life and not having closure for this has caused me to go to the same state when things do not go well or when I feel helpless till date. I go back to me sitting at the back of Senior 2 class at West Herts College Kakiri – Kikandwa staring at the horizon with tears running down my cheeks and Big Daddy smiling and saying, “It is well.” But Big Daddy, is it actually well?

THE END.

@Ulokcwinyu Ubia