In Loving Memory
Last week, I stumbled upon a newspaper leaflet as I was cleaning up my room. The leaflet was the obituary section in which my late grandfather’s death announcement was published. The last couple of weeks I have not been able to shake his memories from my thoughts probably because this is the month that he passed. the world is also experiencing a lot of death and grief this year brought about by COVID-19, natural disasters and police brutality.
The passing of my late grandfather Charles Kagioya was the first death in my family that I truly understood. I had only lost one family member before his death — my uncle. However, I didn’t fully grasp what dying meant when I lost my uncle. I only knew that I would not see him again.
Guka’s (grandfather) death was much more intense, probably because I watched his health deteriorate. I also knew that every time I would go upcountry he wouldn’t be there to open the gate with his sharp suit and god papa hat — it was his signature look. He wouldn’t be there to appreciate us for coming to visit. He wouldn’t be there to give us eggs and macadamia nuts. In my eyes, nothing could take him out but cancer did. The healthy strong man I had known was reduced to a frail man dependent on nurses to feed and clean him.
‘He was one of the cleanest men in the village and he could not step out of the house without ironing his handkerchief and socks — one of the reasons my grandmother liked him.’
Guka was a farmer, that is one of the reasons we could not leave their home without eggs and macadamia nuts. It was one of our biggest highlights when we went to visit him and Cucu (my grandmother). After his death, we came to realise just how influential he was in the village. According to my mother, he was a well-respected elder who handled disputes around his village- as part of the Nyumba Kumi initiative. Additionally, local politicians who wished to vie for political seats would consult him.
Guka was also a member of Mau Mau, which helped in the fight for independence in Kenya. He died waiting for the reparations from the British Government. Anytime, he came to Nairobi before his illness, I knew it was to follow up on the reparations for the atrocities caused by the British government.
Guka’s funeral was planned within a week, which I noticed is very common in Kikuyu funerals. We take death in finality — and let the dead rest. Guka’s funeral arrangements included a fundraiser because of his hefty hospital bill. However, I have noticed that Kikuyu funeral arrangements for those who die without any huge hospital bills are buried with the resources available to bury you.
Historically, burials in the Kikuyu culture were determined by socio-economic status. Families of high socio-economic status could afford to have burials and those that could not; threw the dead bodies to be eaten by wild animals. Until reading more on the Kikuyu burial rites I assumed they threw away dead bodies to the wild because they were afraid of the dead. I rationalised this by the lack of memorialisation of the loved ones we had lost, my uncle and Guka — it almost feels like we are meant to forget them. Their graves do not even have tombstones — the only way I know where they are buried is through the slight rise in the soil where their bodies lay. My mother explained that tombstones hinder the repurposing of the land for farming or re-selling.
During Guka’s funeral, his best friend got the opportunity to eulogize him, and I think this was the first time I had seen an older man from my culture break down and cry. This is because tears during a Kikuyu funeral are rare. So rare that when guka’s best friend's speech brought me to tears cucu asked ‘Why is she crying so much?’. When I think about it I only noticed my cousins ( the younger generations)crying, Cucu, our parents, aunties were all attending to what needed to be done. Probably because we all have different ways of processing grief and mourning. After his funeral was over and we started our journey to Nairobi, my family and their friends had a stopover at a local Nyama Choma place. It did not look like we had just come from a funeral.
Culture is an interesting phenomenon, I continuously learn and relearn new things each day especially when it comes to life and death rites. However, I feel that we should not forget the ones that have left us, we may not memorialise them but we can continue sharing their stories to the next generations that will come after us.
Guka physically left us 5 years ago and every day we feel his absence. The values of togetherness that he reminded us of will never be forgotten. We may not celebrate his life each year but when we come together as a family we understand the value of togetherness that he left in us.
Gone but forever in my heart.
