Babaa, Mama & I

He passed away on the wee hours of July, the 3rd. Shortly before 4 am or 5 am, or maybe before 9.54 am when I called and he wasn't answering. No one knows the exact time his strength left him or the time his spirit flashed away. He was in high spirits shortly before he retired to bed after watching a game of football. No one knew that was the last time they'd see him alive and unwell. And chained to a wheeler. And groaning in pain. 

 

He had been taken to MTRH the day before his passing for a CT scan, and a MIR scan and a host of other tests that would unravel the malady that had tormented him for years. He was keen to beat it, wrestle it and cast into damnation a condition that had confined him to a wheelchair. 

 He was in high spirits on their way back after a day with specialists at the Eldoret Hospital. He had been inoculated with tranquilizers and anesthesia. Mostly the extracts from his frame, and torso was rudimentary. His bones had lost their mojo and strength. He could no longer move his legs voluntarily as some pain seared in and pierced his heart and frame. All he felt was pain - in his limbs, in his bones, his torso, and his head. With the exception of his hair, everywhere hurt and the pain was unrelenting.

He had suffered that boy.

I was informed of his passing away at around 11 am. By then, his body had lain in perfect peace - free from the tawdry affairs of this world. He lay numb and lifeless on his bed - eyes closed in deep contrition. There wasn't a tear shed or any sign of impedance. His face was firmly poised in the direction of the wall. Perhaps, he knew, he wouldn't see the light at the end of the wall anyway. In a struggle between life and death, death wins- always. 

 I couldn't help the tears that streamed my cheeks. He had been a great influence in my life since the turn of the decade. I mirrored his plans and he mirrored mine. For the years I had known him, he had been a quisp that opened my imagination and world view. He was incredibly bright - that boy- amidst the sweltering pain. Osteoporosis, could weigh his frame down, but couldn't put his will and tenacity away. He had plans, ostensibly, to be able to feel human again. While his frame gave in, his mind tinkered far and wide, his brains at work, crafting deals, building networks and engaging his acolytes on social spheres. 

He had accepted his condition. And bold he became, often speaking of the ineptitude of the social protection structures in the country. With one trifling exception of the local women representative, local and national leadership had failed him. He never received a dime from the affirmative fund. Although he was well networked, he built a close circle of friends that helped him on his voyage. 

 I was lucky to have been his friend. 

 Given the sweep of his life, it was tempting for me, to eulogize him as the most tenacious person I had ever seen. He lacked the vitality to locomote but his mind was a repository of ideas - great ideas. An astute planner and strategist, he was. It came as no surprise when he was tasked to coordinate affirmative action programs for people with disabilities in his sub-county. Just when a dark cloud was about to pass, it came right back and took him away with it. He was not disabled, he believed in his heart and mind- he just was abled differently.

 When I stood up to eulogize a friend and a brother, I saw a sea of humanity, crestfallen, and my eyes wept in gratitude. I saw a people mourn a man "who had been limited physically but whose lines of thought was off the charts." I felt rivulets of tears roll down my eyes. Kagibet chitab komonut.

 I saw my Mama seated a few yards away. Her son lay on the casket 'on a journey's end' a further yard away. I felt sad for  Mama as no parent should bury their children. His death was almost contemporaneous with the arrival of my daughter. God gives and takes. As she stood to make her remarks, I was romped by a surge of emotion. I remembered every detail of his life; his education, his ventures, his acumen and his sobriety. I was his protégé and he was mine. I said a prayer for Mama, to God, to give her solace and the serenity to accept things we couldn't possibly change. 

 My brother Babaa has left this prosaic world. He has found the peace and the private joys of a man. It is difficult to spruce up the essential truths that maketh a person, but his were bare.  In these unprecedented times, it ain't easy being who we are, quipped Tupac whom he greatly revered. But he remained true to self, to his folks, to his friends and to his philosophical precepts. He was put to rest with his hair in tufts, coiled in defiant truths- his truths. Truths that told of a man in pain, his quivers, his music, his songs, his repertoire, his passions and his strengths.

 It was on a rainy and soggy day when his casket was lowered to the ground. As the rain hit the soil, I resigned to the solemn truth that my Mama's son, Babaa, was never coming back to us.

Goodbye Babaa. I shall miss you my G. It is well with my soul.