The Refugees

 

There is something about a war-torn country that reeks of hopelessness and desperation. When a country has been at war for long, there is nothing left for its citizen. They start living in a state of merely just existing and getting through each day. Their dreams are shattered, schools are burned to the ground and those still operating are too dangerous to venture into and so all hope for a brighter future is gone. There are no careers apart from being soldiers and so dreams for being accountants, chefs, writers, painters, are all gone.

The children suffer the most. Those born during the war, have no knowledge of peace. Those born before the war are left to adapt to their new lives and deal with the nightmares of watching their old peaceful lives go down the drain. There are also children who loose their childhood during the war when they are forced to take up guns and join the fighting. These children can no longer play or enjoy the innocence that they once had. Instead, they become killing machines who will most likely die by the gun, wasted lives.

This was the life at Meharib. The country had been at civil war since the 1990’s. There had been a short period of peace when the military government took power. However, different clans in the country started feeling that Meharib was being run by only one clan that made up majority of the military government. This brought a resentment especially since there claims of nepotism and discrimination against the clans not in power. In addition, the military government was accused of not reinforcing the religious laws of the land. Women were allowed to walk around without the proper religious attire, they spoke however they wanted, worked wherever they wanted and even dared challenge the men. On the other hand, men indulged in drinking alcohol and failed in their roles as the head of households. Prayers were not even observed as they should have been. There was so much liberty in Meharib because the government had allowed it. This discontentment led to the coup d’état that saw the military government loose power. Soon the whole country went into war with everyone trying to get into power.

In the midst of the chaos and mayhem in Meharib, there was a thirteen year old girl named Soita. She had been recently orphaned when a radical militia group attacked her village and killed her parents. Together with the other women, they were rounded up and taken by the soldiers. Although barely a teenager, Soita had heard stories of what the soldiers did to the women who they captured. Most women were found dead in the forests, tortured, raped and murdered. It was a worse fate than what her beheaded parents had gone through.

The night that the militia came, Soita ended up being frog matched with the other women into the forest. They set camp with the soldiers as the women were put in shackles and then sat down at a corner in the camp. The soldiers would then pick two women every night and then have them to all chores such as cooking and serving meals around the camp. These women would then sleep in the tents with the soldiers and after that, nobody would ever see them again.

The soldiers kept changing camps now and then, this meant that the captured women had to walk for miles at times still with their feet shackled up together. There was no time to rest, eat or even talk to each other. They hardly said a word to each. However, every night when the soldiers came to pick two women, the others were left weeping wondering when their turn would come to make the final meal before they too disagreed. Some wished that this would be sooner than later and that way, the desperation and fear that they experienced every night would then be gone.

Soita soon noticed another young girl in the group who was in the same age group as her. She was always so quiet, her head forever hang low and every night Soita could hear her sobbing. One evening, when the soldiers unshackled them to give them a break, Soita quickly moved from where she was sitting and went to sit with the young girl. The young girl didn’t even look up at her. She just sat there with her head down. When they were shackled again for the night, Soita reached out and took her hand in hers. It felt weak, bony and very tiny. She still didn’t look up or stop sobbing but she held on to Soita’s hand. A friendship was formed that day.

Weeks later, the women were still moving camps with the soldiers as the numbers continued to dwindle. Sometimes the soldiers would leave them at the camp all day whenever they were launching attacks on villages. The women never planned to escape or even get rescued. There was simply no where to go. Merahib was in such a horrible state that no place was better than the other. They also knew that one way or the other, they would have been captured by the same or different soldiers and their fate would still be the same. They sat down all day and waited to find out which two women would be leaving.

There were times when the soldiers would come back in great spirits after a successful raid. They would then spend the night singing and feasting around the camp. However, they would still come for the two women. There were other nights when the soldiers would be back to the camp in somber moods. Sometimes in smaller numbers than they had left in. Again, even in mourning, the women would not be spared.

By the end of the fourth week since Soita was captured, the number of women had dwindled down to just four. There was Soita and her young friend and two older women. With such a small group, they four knew that they would be dying either that night or the next one. There was no other way.

As luck would have had it, that night the soldiers picked the two other women. Soita and her friend were left behind waiting to see their last sunrise. They stayed together holding hands with each left to her thoughts.

“Mariam…” Soita had a soft whisper.

She looked up to the girl and found her staring at her with soft eyes that clearly mirrored her defeated spirit. At first Soita was unsure about what or who Mariam was.

“My name, Mariam”… The young girl said again. “Soita is mine”. She responded. Both girls looked at each other for some time silently.

“It will be our turn tomorrow”….. Mariam continued. “You must be brave Soita, do not beg or cry, okay?” She continued.

Soita stared at her for sometime wondering why she was telling her that. Before she could respond, Mariam went on, “If you cry, then they will have won”.

“They have already won, they took everything we had and then now they are making us wait for our death”. Soita replied.

“They may have taken our freedom and will soon take our bodies and lives but they have not yet won”. Mariam said sounding very convinced. “They do not have our spirits yet, we have to leave with that”.

Soita sat silently looking at their feet chained together wondering how Mariam could sound so strong after having cried for four whole weeks. She thought about her words and wondered whether they truly had any fighting chance.

The girls stayed awake that night and as the sun came up, they had already accepted their fate. As always, the soldiers did not stay at the camp that day. Instead, they left very early in the morning leaving Soita and Mariam chained at a corner in one of the tents. For the first time, Soita thought of escaping.

“We can run Mariam”. She tried to convince her friend.

“They would still catch us. Worse still, we may be captured by the other soldiers and then wait for another month before we are killed”. Mariam responded.

“We may get lucky and get shot and die like human beings”. Soita tried to convince her but Mariam would hear none of it.

Unfortunately, with their feet chained together, they could only escape together. Mariam refused to take part in the plan. This meant that there was nothing that Soita could no do. She sat down dejectedly and watched the sun go down as she counted minutes before the soldiers came back.

“Its okay Soita, paradise awaits us”. Mariam tried to encourage her worried friend. However, Soita still believed that they had one more chance to get out alive. She thought of her father and wondered what he would have done if he was around. He definitely would not have died like a coward like they were about to. Even before being beheaded by the soldiers, he still fought and tried to defend her mother.

This thought gave Soita a new resolve. “They have not yet won!” She kept telling herself. She devised a plan in her mind of how she would try making a run for it. She could even get a gun from one of the soldiers and then try and rescue Mariam too. Soita made up her mind not to die without a fight.

Suddenly, they had the footsteps outside the tent. The soldiers were back. The two girls looked at each, holding hands tightly. One was saying goodbye; the other was gathering strength to fight. As the boots approached the tent, they continued to look at each other as they waited. Suddenly the zipper of the tent went down as the light flooded into the tent.

“There are two little girls chained here”. Someone shouted.

Confused, Mariam and Soita looked outside the tent. There were soldiers alright. However, these were not Merahib soldiers. They wore a different shade of uniform and had red berets. They also had badges and tags on their uniforms written “UN”. The girls had no idea what any of these meant. Perhaps they were being captured by other soldiers?

They watched silently as the soldiers came and got them from the tent. Once the shackles were removed, Soita suddenly sprung into action. Whoever the soldiers were, she was not going to be taken alive again. She gathered her strength and quickly grabbed Mariam as they took off running towards the forests. They ran as they waited to feel the sharp pain of a bullet tearing through their bodies but no guns were fired.

They heard the boots though and they knew that they were being pursued. They ran until they were finally captured again. This time, they were put at the back of a truck that was fully covered preventing the passengers inside from looking outside. The truck drove off with nobody saying anything to the two frightened girls. Soon more people were brought into the truck. This time, even men and young boys were brought in. They all sat together, heads bowed just waiting to see what would happen next. The war had broken all of them. They knew that whatever would happen next would just be as bad.

Fifteen hours later, the truck finally stopped for a longer period now. There were about 30 people seated close together at the back of it. Finally, the cover was pulled up and they could all see the new location.

“Fashid Refugee Camp”, was written on sign board. In front of them there was a fenced, gated community with many neatly arranged tiny houses. There were soldiers everywhere but no fighting was going on. The people around the area looked happy as they all went on about their business. The truck was opened and everyone got it and joined a queue. They were registered as they went through medical checks before being moved to the houses. They were then fed and given new clothes.

It was hours later after settling into the community when finally, the two girls looked at each other as it dawned on them that they had gotten out of Merahib, alive!

He Fixed Me

 

There is a common saying about “calm before a storm”. You know that period of time when everything seems perfect then suddenly, your world comes crushing down on you. Everything changes in just seconds and suddenly life as you once knew it is gone and you are left trying to figure it all out. That is what happened on that fateful evening in the streets of Nairobi.

 

The dinner was amazing and so was the wine which made everyone happier or at least laugh more. The mood was simply great, lots of story telling and laughter, you know the usual girls’ night. We had so much fun catching up and just laughing about the most random things.  I had picked the hotel based on the fact that I knew it was great, the ambience, music and food was always on point and this time, we were definitely not disappointed.

 

We left the restaurant at about 10:00pm and got into our separate care. The girls heading to Embakasi had a separate car. Dawn, Mumbi, Cera and I were to ride together in the car that was heading towards the Nairobi- Naivasha highway. Dawn was to drop us at Cera’s house where we were to spend the night and then drive to her place a few blocks from Cera’s.

 

The ride from town to Cera’s place only took about 20 minutes since there was no traffic on Waiyaki Way. As usual, we were in a great mood albeit fatigued after a long day at work and a great evening out. Soon we were at Cera’s and so we stopped right in front of her gate and got out of the car.

 

 Suddenly, there was a loud sound of screeching wheels coming to a halt. In just a matter of seconds, there were men surrounding us, pushing us back into the car. I thought of screaming but was quickly silenced by a sharp blade placed on my throat. Cera, Mumbi and I were pushed back to the backseat of the car whereas Dawn was forced into the passenger’s seat. One of the men took the wheel whereas two more men sat at the back with us, sandwiching us on both sides. They started driving us back to highway with another car following us closely.

 

I remember the fear that engulfed me. I tried to stay still but something clearly told me that my life was in danger. Next to me, Cera started sobbing quietly followed by Mumbi. This seemed to annoy the men as the next thing I heard was a loud slap on Cera that shut her up immediately. I remember forcing my mind to immediately go to another place. I didn’t want to think about what was happening to us. I tried not to be afraid and instead wore a blank stare as if I wasn’t even part of the nightmare. However, there was no escape for me even mentally.

 

We drove all the way past Kikuyu town and stopped somewhere near the Wida Highway Motel. The car veered off the main highway and unto a rough road. At this point, I could see Cera holding her rosary in her hands saying a prayer. Mumbi had her head down and from the heaving; I could tell that she was still crying. Suddenly, Dawn tried to do something none of us had dared to do. She started negotiating with the men. Dawn is a business woman and she is used to boardroom negotiations but this didn’t seem like the right time for such negotiations. She offered the men our phones, wallets and even jewelry. For a moment, I thought the men would listen but instead, the man seated next to me leaned forward placing the knife under Dawns chin and practically lifting her up with the blade. We all started pleading with him asking for forgiveness on her behalf until he let her go. Terrified, Dawn slid down her seat and lowered her head. She accepted that there would be no negotiations to be done this time.

 

After about 30 minutes into the rough road, the cars stopped. We were in the middle of nowhere with only trees surrounding us. There were no houses or even cars around us. We were pushed out of the car into the dark night. The second car came to halt and the driver and a second man came out. In total, there were five men. We were easily outnumbered and overpowered.

 

They made us kneel down on the dirt and stood hovering over us. Suddenly, they started talking as if we were not even there. They talked and laughed about something we could not understand. They then started referring to us as “Wasichana high class” High Class women.  It seemed that they were very pleased with the kidnapping having assumed that we had a lot of money and so expecting to make a kill from the horrific incident. All the while the girls were all sobbing again. For some reason, I couldn’t even cry. I kept forcing my mind away from the present. I tried to think about other neutral things. It didn’t seem to work though.

 

 I looked up and my eyes came into contact with those of one of the men. He was the youngest in the group. There was something about him, for a second he looked unsure of what to do. He didn’t even look like he belonged with the group. I had a faint glimmer of hope that he may be able to sympathize with us. He kept looking at me but when I looked back at him, he would quickly look away.

 

After a while, we were all ordered to stand up. Then they then asked us to strip naked. It was so humiliating since the men were just lined up in front of us. At that moment, all my self-worth and dignity seemed to hit the ground at the same time with every piece of clothe that I was wearing. We stood there in the middle of the night, headlights shining on us and almost freezing to death. It was a cold night and for a moment I thought that if I didn’t die in the hands of the men, then I would die from the cold.

 

One man stood up and started going through our handbags. They took all our phones and money. They then turned to clothes and started checking all pockets for extra money. They took anything that they thought looked expensive. I lost my shoes at this point since according to one of the guys, they looked like designer shoes. Although I knew they were not! I had just bought them a week ago from a street vendor at Ngara for a hundred shillings.

 

At this point I am sure that all the girls had the same thought. We were going to get raped. It is the worst fear for any woman and for us. It seemed inevitable at that moment. I tried praying to God and just silently pleading with the men not to subject us to anymore torture. I heard someone crying again but I couldn’t tell who. It was dark and we all had our heads bowed down standing about a foot from each other. After what seemed like forever, someone ordered us to dress up. It seemed like the worst had passed.

 

Just as I bent down to pick my skirt, I saw a pair of feet in front of me. Suddenly, my heart started racing and I could feel my whole body break out into a cold sweat. I tried to grab my skirt but then man stepped on it. I looked up and was shocked to see that it was the young man who I thought had looked unsure of himself.” Stand up!” He screamed at me. I turned and looked at my friends and was surprised to see them dressing. Now I was the only naked person in the group.

 

I kept wondering what I had done wrong. I mean, why me. Why was that happening to me? Why was I being singled out at that moment?

 

 “So you are the courageous one in this group”. He asked with a scorn.

 

 I was so confused and wondered what he meant by the comment.

 

 “ Huyo mwanamke anakaa tu kichwa ngumu”. That woman looks strong headed. One of the men said. “While the others are crying and begging for their lives, she was just standing there looking at you”. He added.

 

“So you are one of those women who think that they are better than men since you probably have a degree and a good job?” He asked again. I was still in shock; I couldn’t even fake tears even if I tried.

 

 I just started praying again and this time, I didn’t do it silently.

 

Suddenly, my worst fears were confirmed as soon as I saw him unbuckle his belt. He pushed me to the ground and started raping me all the while hitting my face whenever he felt like it. I remember looking into his eyes again and thinking back to when I thought he would be our rescue. I tried to block my mind from everything but once again, failed miserable. That face will haunt me for the rest of my life. When he was done, he stood up and I could hear the other men laughing and making some crude remarks. I couldn’t believe that it had happened.

 

I lay there on the ground; wishing death would take over me. My face hurt and so did my whole body. I felt dirty, truly worthless and I just wanted to die so bad. I wished they would just kill me. I felt like my life was over. How will I ever look at myself in the mirror again? How will I ever get rid of that feeling of being so dirty and feeling like nothing? I wondered why God had let that happen to me. All my life bad things seem to happen to me. The child abuse, the heartbreaks after heartbreaks, all I have known is pain. This was the worst thing yet and it had happened to me.

I felt someone touch me and I thought it was a second man. I couldn’t take it anymore. I cried and tried to hit him until I heard the voice. It was Cera. I looked around me and realized that they were all gone. The girls were around me, crying, trying to wipe all the filth and blood off me and dress at me at the same time. For some reason, I was so angry at them. This happened to me, not them! I was the one destroyed so what were they even crying about. I just wanted them to leave me alone. Cera’s car was left behind although it was stripped of all valuables including the GPS and the stereo system. We drove back and headed straight to the hospital. I was treated and put on antiretroviral medication for a few days.

 

The days after the ordeal were a nightmare. The medication used to make feel nauseous and every time I took them, I saw the eyes. Those eyes haunt me every night and remind me of the ordeal. I completely cut all the communication with the girls since I couldn’t bare look at them. I know it wasn’t their fault but I just felt bad about what happened to me. I felt like they had no idea what I was going through and would never understand. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror and I hid under big dark clothes. I cut off everyone and tried to concentrate on my job so as to numb out the horrible memories.

 

I remember that it was exactly eleven weeks after the carjacking and rape that I was able to go back to church again. For weeks I had avoided praying and I was angry at God. I kept wondering if He even knew me. Did He even hear why prayers? If not, why do I even bother praying? Why did He let me live? I often asked myself. For those weeks, suicide was always on my mind. I felt like all my dreams had been shattered. I thought I would never get married. I mean who would want damaged goods. I felt ugly, unloved and so worthless.

 

I went to church on that Sunday giving God an ultimatum. I asked Him to give me a sign, show me what He wants from me. If I didn’t get a sign, I would kill myself. I would drive my car off the highway and just kill myself. It would all be over.

 

At the church, I sat at the back. I didn’t want to participate in worship and just wanted the preaching to start. I wondered what the message would be. I remember when the speaker was introduced, my heart sunk. It was a man! I didn’t want a male preacher since I felt like all men were the same. I wanted to walk out of the church but for the first time in my life, I heard a voice so clear commanding me to listen.

 

The sermon was about “God can turn you from a zero to a hero”. It was about people like me who felt worthless. It was a message of hope. The speaker spoke of Rahab from the Bible. The prostitute who hid the spies and this act made her a heroine and her life was turned around from then.

 

Joshua 6:26: But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho–and she lives among the Israelites to this day.

 

God had taken Rahab, a woman of ill repute who many would have referred to as being worthless and he had transformed her life. I felt like Rahab. I wasn’t a prostitute but I was worthless, in my own eyes I was. For the first time in weeks, I went down on my knees, raised my hands to heavens and started praying as tears fell down my eyes. I asked God to fix me. I also asked him to make me His vessel that other women who felt like me would know that they were not worthless. A feeling of calmness washed over me, my heart felt lighter and my spirit soared. I felt alive again.

 

I remember getting back to my car after the service feeling like a new woman. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to reach out to other rape victims and every single woman who had been made to feel worthless. I wanted to reach out to them through my writing. I left church that day feeling lighter and just happier.

 

Driving home was a joy. I sang and prayed all the way, just had conversations with God thanking Him for a second chance and asking Him to fix me again and make me whole.

 

No sooner had I gotten back to the highway than I witnessed a grisly road accident. A man was trying to cross the highway when the car in front of me hit him. He was practically thrown over the car with so much force that he landed just in front of my car. That sickening thud on impact made me think that he must have died on the spot. I stopped my car and to my shock saw that the other driver was speeding away. The highway was deserted at that time and I wondered what to do.

 

I walked out of the car slowly and towards the figure lying on the ground all twisted up. The sight that met me was terrible. Bones sticking out, intestines sprawled out and a massive blood bath. It was horrible. I heard the man make a sound and so I drew closer to him. I looked down at him, wanting to say something to him but suddenly, I froze.

 

The eyes! It was him.

 

The man lying right in front of me was the man who had raped me about three months ago.  I looked at him and in anger walked right back to my car. He deserved to die. Right there in the middle of the road like a dog. Now he knows how it feels to feel like you are worthless. He deserved it all. I backed up my car and started to drive around him. However, my heart and mind just wouldn’t let me.

 

I got out of the car and walked back to him. He looked so bad. He had blood coming out of his mouth and ears and his eyes also looked bloody. I used my phone to call for help and actually managed to reach the hospital where I was treated after my rape ordeal. They promised to send emergency response.

 

Looking at the man, I sat down near him. I couldn’t move him since I was sure more damage would be done. “Po—ole”. He kept mumbling in Kiswahili just saying sorry over and over again. I looked at him in the state that he was in. Right then, In my heart I let it go. I had gotten my second chance at life. I don’t know if he was going to get since he clearly seemed to be dying. I held his hand feeling no life there and sat with him until I heard the sirens of the ambulance. The picked him and rushed him to hospital.

 I left the scene with my conscience clear. I had forgiven the man. I let go of all that anger, the pain. God had forgiven me numerous times for all my sins and I simply prayed that He would give me the grace to forgive that man. For the second time that day, I felt a heavy weight get lifted off my shoulders. My mind and heart were completely at peace.

 

He died on his way to hospital. However, those eyes, the burden of un-forgiveness and simply everything that weighing me down left with him that day. I was free once again. He fixed me. God did.

 

“Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself” Tony Robbins

Mathew 6:14-15

 

¹⁴ For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. ¹⁵ But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

 

This message in this story was inspired by a sermon that i heard at a Daughters of Zion meeting at JCC, Parklands Church. Daughters of Zion is a ladies meeting held at the church every last Saturday of every month.The next service will be on October 26, 2013 starting at 1:00pm.

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Rocking Years…

 “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be” Robert Browing

He made me laugh. That is what made me fall in love with him. Okay maybe that and also the sound of his laughter.

When I met him, I had just gotten a job at a law firm. On the other hand, he sold coffee at our local café. I had just gone in for my morning coffee when I met him. He handed me my mocha but this time, we talked a little bit. I found myself laughing harder that I had in a long time. We talked until other customers complained about me holding the queue and so I had to leave. However, I went back to the café every single morning after that. I went in for the coffee and a dose of laughter.

One day, I decided to go for coffee when it was less busy. I didn’t want the coffee actually, what I wanted was to see him. You see, he had been on my mind. There was something about the way he smiled, laughed and prepared the coffee. Lucky for me, I found him alone. He served me my mocha and then poured himself a mug too.

We sat by the window and talked. He was a great listener. I told him about my job and the interesting cases that I had taken so far. I found myself telling him about my dreams. We talked for hours. He made me feel like I was the most interesting woman in the world. With his face on his palms and eyes glued on me, I felt like a star in a world of two. He told me about his dreams too. He wanted to be a professional at what he did. He was passionate about making coffee and wanted to train as a barista. We talked until it was nightfall and then he walked me to my car and went back to close the café.

His name was Martin with an ‘e’ at the end.  That is the story of how I met him. There were no fireworks, music playing, or cupid running around with arrows. There was just coffee and the sound of laughter.

We spent at least an hour every day together after that day. We spend more hours on the phone talking. Soon, my life started revolving around Martine and the café before and after work.

We explored the city together and had so many interests. We loved the park, the plays, good food, ice-cream, jazz music and lazy Sunday afternoon strolls around the town. Martine had an interesting taste in music. He likes the classics. I mean the 60’s music. He taught me about Elvis Presley and Freddie Mercury. He opened my world to new things. He also loved to paint.

Pedro Calderon de la Barca
“When love is not madness, it is not love”.

In my mind, his best works was the perfect world where the two of us lived in love.

When we finally let other people into our world, they simply did not understand what was going on. My friends at the law firm were mortified that I was dating the coffee guy. To them, Martine and I were like in an interracial couple back in the 1940’s in Mississippi. They acted like it was a crime. I tried to introduce them to him so that they could see that he was smart, funny and more talented than any other man I had ever met. They simply refused to accept the relationship and instead, they gossiped and pointed fingers. My bosses even claimed that it was bad PR for the firm.

I cried in Martine’s arms and told him about all the hostility but never did I ever consider leaving him. How could I ever leave the man who had made my life beautiful again?

My parents, the University professors reacted just like my workmates did. My father refused to shake his hand when we visited home. My mom refused to leave the kitchen or speak to me again.  Martine tried to smile and act like all was okay but I knew the rejection hurt him. I stood with him even when my family turned their backs on us.

We stood together, Martine and I since that is what people in love do.

I quit my job and he closed his café and we moved to a small town to start a new life together. I opened a small practice and well, he opened another coffee shop and studied to be a barista. Together, we spent quiet evenings at our small home, laughing and talking.

It is funny how two people can still have so much to talk about even after years of talking every single day.

Our wedding was beautiful. It was a small ceremony at the lakeside. We had only 5 guests in attendance and the priest. Once we said “I do”. Martine and I walked hand in hand, barefoot to the side of the lake where we could watch the sunset together. I remember being in his hands and thinking to myself that life couldn’t get perfect than that. There I was with the man I loved, doing what I loved doing, living in a small perfect town and just knowing that we would spend the rest of our lives together. We hardly had any money but we couldn’t be happier. Life was just beautiful.

Getting married, for me, was the best thing I ever did. I was suddenly beset with an immense sense of release, that we have something more important than our separate selves, and that is the marriage. There’s immense happiness that can come from working towards that.
Nick Cave

We raised our 3 children together in that small town until they went away to college.

Even when things got tough, we still found ways to laugh together just like we did in that café years back. We still found time to talk and watch the sunsets together. We even set up rocking chairs at the patio and sometimes just sat there rocking, holding hands, and not even saying a single word.

We were at the patio, still holding hands and rocking on our chairs, watching the sun go down when Martine left me. I felt him slip away, his hand went limp and I looked at him, his head was slumped to one side. Martine was no longer part of the living. He left me.

What we have once enjoyed we can never lose;
All that we love deeply, becomes a part of us.
Helen Keller

I looked at the sunset again with its orange glow and closed my eyes tight praying and hoping to take my last breath just like he had done. Why would I ever want to see another sunset without my Martine?

 

“I’ll do everything I can to make you proud to be my man
And I’ll fulfill all you fantasies
I guess we’re promising a lot, but for now it’s all we’ve got
And I’ll stand by you thru our rockin’ years

Rockin’ chairs, rockin’ babies, rock-a-bye, rock of ages
Side by side we’ll be together always
And if you’ll hold me tight when you love me
That’s all I’ll ask of you
And I’ll stand by you thru our rockin’ years”

Dolly Parton- Rocking Years

 

The woman with no tomorrow

She died while I was away. I had travelled out of the country when the call came in. My best friend Linda just fell sick and died. What is worse is that she died from typhoid. I have had typhoid before. Not once but more than three times because I went to boarding school in primary school. We used to drink un-boiled water from the river and so I got sick every time. They would then put me on 2 weeks medication and prohibit me from drinking milk while on treatment and then I would be well again. Not Linda, her first time and she died. I was angry, it just didn’t make sense. She was young, healthy and full of life, so why couldn’t she fight the illness like I had done so many times before.

Immediately I got back home, I made plans to go visit her at Langata cemetery where she rested. I didn’t carry any flowers since Linda hated them. I knew what she liked though, my favorite pink scarf. She had borrowed it so many times before but I had to say no each time since well, it was my favorite scarf after all. Now all that seemed trivial. If she came back I would have given her the scarf and anything else she had ever wanted.

Her grave was full of flowers! I guess I was the only one who knew her well enough. She would have been appalled by the sight in front of me. I looked at her gravestone “Linda Wariamu Murimi” Oh boy! Sorry Linda but now they have told the whole world that your name is Wariamu. She used to hate that name so much. She must be cringing in her grave, turning and hoping the flowers would cover that part of the stone.

I said a prayer for her. No tears just anger and pain. The loss was immense. I never even had a chance to say goodbye before they put her so deep in the ground. I never got to tell her all I wanted to tell her. I had finally decided to come clean and let her know that I was pregnant. He denied the pregnancy leaving me scared and alone but I was keeping the baby. I hadn’t told anyone yet since I was ashamed. I was scared of having let down my parents again. I was embarrassed of having conceived out of wedlock. The thought of being a mother terrified me and having to do it alone was even worse. I decided to tell Linda about it while I was on my trip. I knew she would understand. She wouldn’t have judged me. Hell Linda would even have offered to be the father to my child. That is who my best friend was and I wish I had told her all this before she died. Now she was gone and I was all alone in the world.

I told her that I loved her and would miss her. I let her know that I forgave her a long time ago for reading my diary when I was a teen and sharing my private thoughts with others. I told her that she could keep the jeans that I lent her ages ago which she failed to return. I apologized for the flowers and the gravestone with her name on it. I said goodbye.

I was walking out of the cemetery when I heard someone sobbing softly. Well I spook easily and so I thought of just running out of there. However, I turned around and that is when I saw her. A gorgeous, pregnant woman seated on a grave. She was crying softly and my heart went out for her. Could it be that she was a grieving widow, maybe a daughter who had lost parent or maybe like me, she was mourning her own Linda.

Something in me wouldn’t let my feet move forward towards the gate. I just walked back to her and sat down next to her. I didn’t know whether to put my hand around her. That would be weird for a stranger, right? So I opted to rub her back and say sorry. She leaned on me and started weeping. I rocked her like a child and once again told her how sorry I was. For the first time, with that stranger, I wept for Linda. My heart broke for my young friend lying in a wooden box covered with dirt and no longer part of the living. We stayed like that for a while and just cried until my heart felt lighter.

She then started talking. She told me of all things that she would miss, like the sun, morning and night, the food, laughter and just being with loved ones especially her husband and mum. Oh boy! I just met a suicidal person. I tried to interrupt her but she kept talking. She was so sad and spoke so softly that I strained to hear her. She asked me about my family. I simply told her that we weren’t talking. I had let them down by dropping out of medical school to follow my dream of being a writer. Now I was struggling to get published and to add to their shame I was having a child out of wedlock. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and then, she called me stupid! Unbelievable! Even a suicidal stranger thought I was stupid. She quickly explained that I was stupid for alienating my family for such reasons. She told that I need to make peace with them and fix things. She mentioned that if she had a chance, that is exactly what she would have done!

She asked me about my writing career. I told her that I had never been published and was struggling to find a job because the media industry was saturated. She asked about where I had sent my work to and I mentioned that magazine that had rejected my article some four years ago. She called me lazy! Wow! This woman was starting to annoy me. She told me that I wouldn’t have forever to follow my dreams. She didn’t think I was working hard enough. She then told me that she had always wanted to be a chef and open her own restaurant. However, she postponed that dream for so long and now it was too late.

She asked me about my pregnancy and I told her about Alex. He was young and ambitious and I fell in love with him since he was a dreamer like me. He broke my heart though when he denied our un-born. She asked me why that had happened I explained that Alex like me had no job and no prospects and so he wanted me to get rid of the baby since we didn’t have a way of raising it. We had no money and couldn’t even feed ourselves at times. She encouraged me to keep the baby and not lose faith. Babies are gifts from God, she said. She told me that Alex and I would do alright even if it will be a struggle at first.

We talked about Linda and she told me that she hopes Linda had lived the kind of life that she wanted. I told her that she did. Linda had been a go-getter, the kind of girl who went after what she wanted. She was a happy girl who never took any day for granted. That was Linda. The stranger told me that I should be like Linda and I just smiled at her.

She told me that she was eight months pregnant and had been trying to have a baby for the past 12 years! That was shocking because she didn’t even look that old. She spoke of her struggles with infertility and the strain it had on her marriage. When she spoke of when she became pregnant, her face lit up and I could tell that she was very happy. I wondered why she wanted to commit suicide with a baby on her way.

I asked her why she wanted to end her life and she gave me a weird reply about it not being her choice. She spoke of all things we take for granted in life, family, friends, health, the beautiful sights and sounds all around us. I looked at her and could feel just how much she wanted to be alive. I know she had so much to do still and she even had a life to bring to earth. I made up my mind to support this stranger and just ensure that she doesn’t take her own life. She told me that her name was Myra Atieno Omondi and I knew that I had made a new friend. That chance meeting would change the rest of our lives.

I told her to get up on her feet since I was going to buy her coffee. She looked and me and gave me a sad smile whispering, “coffee”. It sounded like she had never had coffee before. Strange woman this Myra was!

I walked in front of her and just then I thought of asking her who she was visiting. We had not even talked about that. I hadn’t even looked at the gravestone that we had sat on. I never got my answer. I looked back and Myra wasn’t with me. Sneaky woman! I headed back to where we had sat thinking that she was still there weeping. She wasn’t. I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find her. That was weird!

I went back to the gravestone and then for the first time, I saw the engravement, “Myra Atieno Omondi, Loving wife and daughter!”

Suddenly, It all made sense! Of course I took off running, scared out of my mind. However, the woman with no tomorrow definitely changed the rest of my life. I have thought of her every single day since. It took a dead woman to make me start living again!