Shosho with love to you.

I lived in my grandmother’s house for so many years a lot of  people in our neighborhood actually thought she was my mother. I cleaned her house spotlessly clean and loved to plait her hair as she told me stories. She made the best mukimo I have eaten to date. She taught me most of the things I know about life and love. For one who was born in an era where love was deemed not important she would later tell me years after my grandpa passed on “every time I pass his graveside my heart still stops”

My grandmother was that special person in my life. She loved me selflessly I was the daughter she never had, And my friends who visited us know she treated us like royalty. There was a never ending supply of tea with boiled maize, nduma or ngaci. She would tell us all “namothome na hinya” apparently her father had thought if he took her to school she would have ended up as a prostitute. I tell you ignorance is extremely expensive.

My grandma was one of the bravest, courageous and diligent person I know. She had guts it’s not for nothing that the British colonial government found it fit to put her in Kamiti maximum prison for a year. The woman used to cook for those who were involved in the fight for independence. The Mukima tree used as a hideout by the Maumau veterans when they came home for lunch still stands right in the middle of her compound. Some of the veterans who came to visit her always looked at it in nostalgia. She would disclose snippets of those tough days; I wonder what she would think of the three hundred thousand shillings and apology offered by the British government.

Let me confess, I come from a family where my mum ensured my sisters and I wore the same exact design and colour of clothes and shoes plus hairstyles to boot the uniformity. I don’t know why my mum thought theat the uniformity made us more alike. To be honest I think it made us resent uniformity all the more. My grandmother found that amusing, and thanks to her she ended those mishaps by giving us a choice to choose whatever we wanted when she took us shopping.

This Iron lady taught me how to cook, light a three stone fire, how to tie a kitambaa on my head, kikuyu sayings, kikuyu greetings, love, respect and hard work. She tried once to teach me how to carry a chicken but that I couldn’t get. The minute the chicken clucked off into the air I threw it. She knew better that to insist on that one. She also taught me how to decipher what is to be blurted out and where and the look that makes a wagging mouth freeze over. She taught me many life secrets.

My grandmother herself not having gone to any school walked patiently with my siblings and I through our academic journeys. If any of us looked like we were faltering, “fimbo-chapa” she was into the doctrine that sparing the rod spoiled the child and she would do it gladly anywhere. When I passed my KCPE exams she was so happy she cried yet she couldn’t fathom what the marks I got meant. When I was leaving for the university she “escorted” with such a modest amount of stash ( read money) to ensure I was okay. Unfortunately she never lived to see the day I graduated with my Masters which I had honestly dedicated to her and my daughter.

My grandmother loved my nephew Roy and Wanja my daughter to pieces. They spent with her the December holidays of 2011. She could not get over introducing them to the whole entire village-severally. I guess she was just proud of them and was glad God had allowed her to see “shiana shia shiana shiake” as the kikuyu say” lossely translated to the children of my children’s children. The concept of being called Maitu made her so happy. She never got to see baby Marcus but I suspect she is as glad about him as the others. Thank God they spent those holidays together.

Shosho, the day I was told you passed on, it was a very cold July day something was just not right. I had never mourned the death of one so close someone’s whose spirit lived in me. That day in the office even those who thought I was an ice-queen were shocked. I mourned for a whole two hours. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t say good bye, why you didn’t wait for me to get to Nyeri or send me a sign. It was a cold day and just like the weather in Othaya when we got there afew hours later it was as chilly as ever.

Shosho as we read in your tribute an year ago, I still maintain no one has ever filled the gap you left. You remain in our hearts. I know up there you are watching us. I pray we still make you proud. We miss you and may your soul Rest in Eternal Peace.

Sojourner,

P.S pardon my lousy kikuyu spelling.