“Tiga Kũmaka. “ I heard my brain telling me as
I headed out to go do a most daunting task.
-and now we are taking you to Zebra Centre,
here you shall be able to see the last three surviving white zebras in the
world. Keep in mind, they are kept under lock and key…….
I was sure I would scramble my head proper but
the voice telling me, “leave off worrying” reassured me.
Then I fell sick. Each time I fall sick, I am
in denial for about three days, drinking concoctions and forcing myself to rest
and hoping it goes away. Like the average Kenyan, I don’t trust hospitals.
I
once was transcribing a research interview and some questions went this way:
Interviewer: Do you go for an annual overall
check?
Respondent: (silence)
Interviewer: Do you go into the hospital when
you are not sick just to get checked?
Respondent: Why?
Interviewer: When do you go to the hospital to
see a doctor?
Respondent: (mwambie labda nipilekwe nikiwa
mahututi)
Interpreter: He says, when he is unconscious.
So Day three I realized, oh my goodness this
must be the big one, the one that carries me off to my final resting house and
I’m gonna just go lay down in Lang’ata while people continue to eat cheese and
drink red wine.
Man, it’s almost midnight but I need a doctor.
And my two friends arrived in less than ten
minutes.
Many times on my way home, the song- don’t
worry be happy- will be playing in the matatu but I get home and my worries
arrive at the same time.
We like to throw the phrase- ndũkamake, or
don’t worry – at people. Don’t worry, you will find another job, or don’t worry,the
rain will eventually stop. Since Nairobians fear rain more than acid attacks,
you’d think the rain was acidic. Though it’s not a great idea to walk in the
rain-look where it got me.
But, it’s until someone tells you- Tiga Kũmaka,
leave off worrying- that you actually stop.
If
someone tells you stop worrying, they redirect your attention to something
else, leave off your worrying and re-organise you head, or look out of the
window.
One person will find you trying to balance a
suitcase on your head and two Nakumatt bags on both your hands and will smile
and tell you,
“ if you need anything, just tell me ok?”
Like you’d ever.
Another will take the two bags from you and
walk slowly with you the 500 metres to the bus stop, and they will have saved
your life. You will wave at them the next time you pass by dressed up in heels
and a glittery handbag and their friends will elbow them for knowing someone shinny.
So automatically, when I became nerve wrecked, what came to mind is what
granny would say- Gathoni, TigaKũmaka, kau nĩ kaũndũ kanini, natũtigatenderie ndeto mũno-
and I stopped worrying.
But If she said don’t worry about it, it meant
she didn’t take my problem seriously.
I find a lot of empathy in deaf culture. We are one community, one tribe.
If a member of the tribe is unwell, then
we buzz around them until they are back
on their feet.
So at
1a.m, as I listened to the two souls trying to make sense of my kitchen turned
jungle, I realised it’s not where you are but who you are with that makes
people run to the doctor, just so you can spend a few more days with such good
fellows.
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