Let’s-Talk-About-Death-Part-1

Let’s Talk About Death (Part 1)

I had been working on my sleeping patterns for the past week and had set my new wake up time to be 5:00 am. On this bright Thursday, I effected my new plan. I thank God for this new day, dress to the nines and off to work. I feel bright, I feel motivated. In the three months I have worked at this firm I have never felt this lively. I used to fear my boss. I used to shrink at a glance of her and constrict at the sound of her voice. For the first time today, I wasn’t. I was willing to go to her office as many times as I would to give reports and follow up on every task I had at hand.

There is something special today! The excitement in me is unnatural. I feel renewed, full of strength and deep inside me I know that this is going to be a perfect day for me! It was not until about 11.41 am when my sister texted in our WhatsApp group telling us that she wants to buy us lunch. This was a group of three (how awkward) namely; My elder sister, my cousin and I. I cordially agreed but I know her with time! Damn, it’s like she owns the time machine.

It is 1.11 pm and we still chatting on the group. I only have an hour’s break for my lunch and these two beauties are talking of how they will get away from their current locations, how they will stand up and in whichever gait they will use to walk. I feel like they are wasting my time and I start pressuring them. At last my cousin arrives and we head to Eastland Hotel at Ngong Road. It is 1.53 pm and now I make my mind to spend 30 minutes of my company time.

I feel Tandoorish today. I feel like taking Chicken Tandoori Masala along some white rice. I feel pepperish. I feel like taking some bitter-sweet something. Unfortunately this hotel with more porcelain pots than its guests has got no Tandoori. I take some spicy chicken in which they say it’s too hot. I tell them to make it medium. They didn’t, but it turned out to be the perfect dish for the moment.

It’s 2.26 pm and my sister has not arrived yet. We are done eating and start making stories with my cousin. She finally arrives and she orders what my cousin took. I am so much excited as it was a full month since we last met. I thank God for how beautiful my family is. I am warmed by a paintwork straight ahead on a wall infront of me. Not by Pablo Picasso but I think by a guy from River Road who did an art of some animals and decided to paint their eyes red. The poor animals looked as if they were high on weed. The lion and zebra looked as if they were long time pals and had just taken a joint together in which the lion said, “Hi dude, man this s**** it so frieking …”

My sister calls me. (Read this part carefully or you will get confused in the rest of the story and the River Road guy will paint not your eyes but your brains red) I have two sisters. The one I am with, the elder one, we share a mother but the one who is calling me, the younger one, we share the dad. That’s pretty good information for you. Unless you now want to share a joint with the zebra.

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My younger sister calls me and with liveliness, I say, “Hey whatsup? Look, someone has remembered me!” She asks me how I am doing almost four times with a breaking voice and I thought maybe the reception was poor. My two beauties go amazingly silent. It is 3.19 pm. I become keen and alert in the call and I notice that she was crying. My heart skips a beat and I decide to ask her whats up. Her words were, “Haven’t you heard? Let me text you!” She hanged up.

Chills didn’t run through me and neither did brimstone! I felt a high voltage electric shock coupled with the heat of molten lava sinking in a relaxed gait through my selfless body. The look from my sister’s and cousin’s eyes went plastic. They were like two nuts sinking in clear water. They were like a guilty dog eyes. To break the boulder, not the ice this time, they asked me what was wrong and I told them that she is texting me.

I froze as I saw her text, time stamped at 3.20 pm. It read, “Dad is gone” there was no full stop in that text, maybe I was. I have never handled death situations before. My head went blank. My heart was racing at infinite mph. I was crying and before the first drop welled up my eye. My sister touched my left hand. It was a warm and relaxing touch. She said in a soothing voice, “Don’t worry, we knew all this. This is what we wanted to tell you. You have to be strong for your younger sister, she has lost everyone, you are the only one she has left!” My younger sister was worst hit, she was the saddest at the moment. She had lost her elder brother, mother and now father. I am the closest she has to family. I realized that in all means I have to be strong for her.

I never let myself out. I held them back and diverted my pain to my heart which was now racing at infinite superscript infinite mph. My funny River Road paint work turned out to be a set of monster animals staring at me! The porcelain pots turned out to be coffins where I could just throw myself in. My younger sister was my biggest inspiration at the moment. I am the one she has left so I have to be strong for her.

Family is the strongest bond anyone has. Family should always be strong with you no matter what. I thank God for my beautiful family. In no time they managed to somehow raise my spirits. They managed to at least make me forget the bitter part of everything. We went to my workplace and headed for Yaya Centre in which a cab was to pick us. The guy was a close friend to my sister and he had became a good friend. We dropped them at Kileleshwa and we headed for Thika Road.

As a chit chat ensued, the guy told me that he had lost the meaning of life. He told me of how he cannot understand this life. I told him that I had just lost my dad. He was so apologetic and thought he had wronged me by saying that. I also tell him that it’t true life has no meaning as I quote Ecclesiastes 1:14 where Solomon says;

“I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

He then asks my why life is meaningless. I told him that we may build everything we consider so prime and valuable but it’s all meaningless. We may strive to own the best, we may strive for a better life on earth and have our riches here but we will all die and leave them here. I gave him an example of my rich dad who is no more.

He further asks me why the most righteous persons are the poorest in this community. I told him that it is because they don’t have their riches stored here on earth. I told him it’s because that they will not worry of anyone coming after their land, after their car. They would not worry of unfavorable competition, poor economy etc. He then tells me that I have confused him. He asks me which riches these are. I tell him that these riches are not tangible, I tell him that they are not assets, they are not cars, not bungalows but love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control and against such things there is no law.

I tell him that you may have all wealth but you are not at peace, you may have everything you consider satisfactory and you don’t have joy. I narrate to him of how my very poor aunt will always tell me to remember Christ in my life, she will always preach to me, telling me how good God is. I would always eat and drink no matter how much I refuse. I told him at times she may have nothing left for supper but she will strive that I get something to eat. I told him that at times there will be no sugar and she will go to the shop and loan a quarter of sugar so that we may take tea but one thing she would constantly tell me is that that God is good in which I wondered how.

I told him that by me visiting her, that brings her joy, it brings her peace. By her cooking tea for me, that brings love as she does it from her inner self. The guy gets amazed and wonders how perfect her Christian life is. I tell him that Christianity is not perfectionism. I tell him that I sin too, only that I don’t let it own me. I don’t let it become my portion. I don’t let it stamp in my life. I don’t let my wrongs pull me back. I told him that I am under no law but under God’s grace. He became keen on which law this is. I narrated to him of how God used to reside in the Holy of Holies, I narrated to him how hard it was to reach God before but He gave his only begotten son who became sin for us to be saved.

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My spirit were high at this time. I was so much overjoyed to preach the word of God to someone. It was then I remembered that I was not down struck because the Lord was with me. I loved how this friend was attentive. He was a struggling alcoholic. I told him that am not primarily saddened that I have lost my father. I told him that am saddened because I have lost my father who possibly never knew the Lord and I had all the time to tell him about God. I told him that it would bring me much happiness and joy if he knew the Lord on that day as I would commemorate my father’s death as he joined the kingdom. He was so passionate about the word. He was under many laws that Christians should do this and that but I am glad I got that out of his mind and told him we are under the grace. I get to my house and the guy is so much overjoyed. I thank God for him.

I get to my room and the world unfolds. My father was a rich man. He was a struggling alcoholic. He was mysterious and nobody got to understand him. He did not raise me up. I never got to get that father figure. He was miserable and guilty and had to divert all these pressure to alcohol. I get stories that he was a very good pianist, I hear that he was very brilliant, a super genius but alcohol ruined him. I have been struggling for an encounter with him. I have been waiting for that dad son talk. I have put him in my prayers at times. The few encounters I had with him, he was in a bar or elsewhere, dead drunk. Of late I have been looking for that meeting as he was reformed and had got saved. We had had some talk and planned of how we would do music together. Tears welled up my eyes as I remembered that. I went home and called him on a certain Sunday armed with my guitar. He told me that he was going to church and that I should call him later. I gladly did and what ensued was a broken heart, lowered spirits and a crashed soul. He was in the bar, drunk. He said all kinds of words enough to make my lifetime miserable.

I decided to quit but after a while I decided not to. Thank for my strong faith in God. I kept praying for him at times. I yearned to understand him. I longed for the encounter until I was hit by this gloom, this day when cumulus clouds conjoined like jigsaws.

Moral: You have anyone one you want to reach? Do so before these dark clouds form.

Read Part 2 here.

PS: Special thanks for all Kkrew guys, friends & family for standing with me in this turbulent times.

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Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

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About Author

Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

Follow me on Twitter

About Author

Siloma Stephen

Siloma Stephen

I describe myself as simple yet complex, difficult to fathom and a hard nut to crack. I am made of unfailing love, one that sails my boat and oversees my flaws, one that binds me not on any law but nourishes my soul. I write from my soul, generally anything I feel I need to get off my chest most of which is based on my own life experiences, talents, and passions.

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