Because I am Ngugi wa Thiong’o or I have become Chinua
Achebe? Or maybe I have risen in ranks to become the millennial version of Barbara
Kimenye without knowing.
On further deep retrospect and many days of self appraisal,
I have come to a conclusion that no one should be expected to write a grieving
manual. Not for Kyuks, nor for Germans. Just leave grieve alone and let
everybody do as they wish. If anyone needs help let them speak to a
psychiatrist or to their local priest.
If that is not enough, run along and read this post by BikoZulu. It’s the closest one can get to understanding how Kuyks grieve and why I
initially thought I could create a manual for them and weeks upon weeks as I
watered the plants, played with the cat, crushed garlic to sooth the never
ending 2018 flu, the story ran through my mind in different angles.
I had my bullet points, a.k.a vidokezo below. But like in school
when the Kiswahili teacher would go round the room checking each one’s insha
paper to see that you spent five minutes writing down, vidokezo, the story died
before it began.
1. Acknowledge the sorrow death brings with it.
2. Allow yourself to grief, stoicism is overrated, Jesus wept.
3.Sit down and stop planning the tea, cabbage, mikate, mukimo.
4.Why do you need to dig up those old pictures of when I was a girl with snot in my face, scan them and create a brochure?
5. Give comfort to those who mourn, stop telling them wiyumiririe, wiyumiririe kitu gani. I want to roll on the floor and loose my decency if that will get the sad out of my chest.
oh and No.6. No one owns grief. If I'm sobbing at my neighbour's cousin's funeral, let me be.
So for now I don’t have anything. The task was too huge. Let
me be satisfied writing about women and men, plants and cats and once in a
while I might get a real brilliant shot of genius and write a how to article.
