Kariuki 1

Eng101 for International Students (Spring 2001)

The year was 1996. Here I was, living in high class Johannesburg, thousands of miles away from my home, Nairobi, Kenya. A year before, my husband had landed himself a lecturer's position in one of the most prestigious Universities in post-apartheid South Africa. My six-year-old son and I had joined him three months after. By November of 1996, I had secured myself a good job, and my son was well settled in his new school and had made a few friends. He could even speak a few words of Afrikaans, which is a version of old Dutch and the official South African language. For some reasons, he hated anything to do with Afrikaans, and he always told me how irrelevant it was to him since we were not South Africans. I made it clear to my son that if a subject was in the school curriculum, then it was important. To me, second position in anything was just number one loser. It was either winning or losing. When I look back now, I realize how goal driven I was.

My brother-in-law Paul had traveled to Johannesburg to attend a work-related seminar for a couple of days. After the seminar, he came to spend a few days with us. Paul was our first real guest in our new home, and we were just excited to have him. That evening, we stayed up talking until late at night. He updated us on what had happened back home since we left our native city. Before we retired to bed, Paul mentioned he would like to go shopping in the city the following day. Being new in town, he obviously needed someone to take him around, and I offered to take him during my lunch break. We agreed to meet outside my office at noon.

Paul and I met as arranged. Among the things Paul needed to buy was a specific jacket for my brother Joe. Those jackets were made exclusively in South Africa, and by the time they reached Nairobi, they were very costly. Paul knew Joe and when Joe heard that Paul was coming to Johannesburg, he asked Paul to buy him a particular formal jacket he really wanted. Paul bought some clothes for his wife and daughters. He also bought a sweater for his dad but nothing for himself yet. By one o’clock he still was not done. Among the things he still needed to buy was my brother's jacket. We both agreed to resume the shopping later that day. We parted. Paul and my Husband came and picked me up as agreed, and for some reasons, which I do not remember, we could not go shopping. As usual, I filled in my husband with the days happening as we went home, mostly about the shopping. I never noticed how very quiet both of them were. It dawned on me far much later.

I hustled my son into his room to do his homework and then headed straight into the kitchen to make dinner. I wanted to make a real good meal. Within no time a pot was boiling on the stove, chicken was thawing in the microwave and the oven was sizzling with some local traditional homemade Dutch boorwers (South African sausages). Paul was my favorite brother-in-law, and I wanted him to enjoy his stay with us. I had been planning this meal all day. I was still busy chopping and cutting when my husband walked in to the kitchen. He told me he needed to talk to me. "Shoot", I told him still busy with my pots. He then told me he had received a Fax message from home. I was not sure which home, his or mine. I think I asked him what it was about. By this time he was walking towards the bedroom, I followed him when he did not answer me, and caught up with him in the bedroom. He was holding a piece of paper. He turned towards me and I could tell from the expression on his face that something was terribly wrong. Immediately I asked him whether it was my father. You see my father had been ailing for almost five years, and for this reason I was always ready to receive a call about him.

"No," my husband answered.

At that moment the faces of all my six siblings flashed across my mental screen. They all looked fine. I saw nothing wrong with any one of them.

"It’s Joe, he had a fatal accident, "I heard my husband say. My first reaction was to understand the meaning of the word fatal. "Fatal is fatal, that’s death." I reasoned in my mind. A terrible ache came all over me and paralyzed me, I could not move or say a word, my mouth was dry and no sound could come out. Not Joe, I thought.

"But we haven’t found a jacket for him yet" I said as if I did not comprehend what my husband had just said. "We were going to buy it tomorrow. How can he be dead?" I argued. I was feeling very light now and my knees were weak. I was floating in the air. The bedroom space suddenly seemed enormous. I remember hearing my husband explain to me how it had happened. His voices sounded far away. Apparently Joe had gone to see my father in the hospital where he had been admitted. He had met with my mother there. They left the hospital together, my brother had then dropped my mother home and then left for his own home. He never got home. He had a head-on collision with a vehicle driving on the wrong side of the road. He died in a hospital after a few hours. How could he be dead? He was only thirty-six years, just married, and his son was not even one year old.

"This must be terrible a dream," I thought to myself. I wished for the dream to end, I wished to wake from this endless nightmare. It was getting dark, and yet I could still see my brother, I could hear his voice clearly.

I am not sure how long I stood or sat on the bed, I don’t even know when I fell asleep. To me, that night and the nights that followed were all a like bad dream, only the dream was endless. The terrible ache refused to go away. I really do not recall what I did the following few days after that night. I vaguely remember accompanying my husband to the airline reservation office to buy a ticket for my trip home.

I took a window seat on my flight home. The plane was very full, mostly with some sports fishermen on their way to some fishing holiday. I don’t even remember if anyone sat next to me. The four hours flight seemed longer than usual. I longed to get home, but somehow I wondered how I would handle all the sadness at home. I watched as the clouds raced against us, oblivious of all the excitement in the plane. Then I heard the intercom announcing our arrival.

My two sisters met me at the airport. We did not talk much. They updated me on the progress of the funeral arrangement and that was all and we headed straight to my Mum’s house. The funeral was held two days later. Joe had many friends, and they all came to the funeral. Our friends gave us a lot of support, but they were all gone after the funeral. We all felt so much alone; we all tried to give each other support because that was all we could do.

I flew back to Johannesburg four days after funeral. As I left home and said good bye to my mother, sisters and brothers, I knew life would never be the same again for anyone of us. I kept thinking of Joe's wife and the small child. I tried to visualize their lives, just the two of them, but I just couldn’t even imagine how they were going to cope.

My son and my husband met me at the airport. I sighted them before they saw me. This time I saw them in a way I had never seen them before. Here they were, my own family, my very own family, well and happy, and most of all breathing. My son was still in his school clothes, and it was evident that he had played rugby that day. Only rugby could leave him in the state he was in. I did not care that he was all dusty, his hair untidy and his knees green with fresh grass stains. All I cared about was that they were here. I was just happy to see them. They saw started waving and me, I waved back. My son ran towards me and told me he missed me. My husband gave me a hug and took my luggage. And we all walked towards the parking lot. At that moment I realized how lucky I was.

With time, the ache gave way to a dull pain and later on into numbness. I still miss my brother a lot but his death has changed me. Before this happened, I took life and especially my family for granted, and I planned my life to the last details. I now know better. I realized tomorrow is actually today, for tomorrow is never definite.

Friday night is now my family’s special night. It’s my "no cooking night" and my son’s "no homework" night. It is the night we do whatever we feel like doing. It is also the night only voting helps us to decide what we are going to do. My kids always gang up for a pizza and a movie, or a movie and a pizza, for they will have those two in any order. Sometimes we play games of which my three old daughter has to win because no one will play if she loses, but sometimes we just watch a cartoon movie. We all look forward to Friday nights. I still urge my children to work hard in school in order to succeed in life, but I also let them know that there are other important things than academic achievements, and that ones’ family is priority. I also try not to stress myself over small issues. I make my goals and work hard towards achieving them, draw my objectives and try to meet them just like any other person, but I stay ready for any situation because we just can never know what tomorrow will bring.